Guilty Pleasure
by Lilou88
Summary: Visions of a past life and abuse from his former master cause Fenris to walk away from Hawke after their one blissful night together, unable to open up to her about his past. Guilt-ridden, Fenris wishes he were brave enough to ask for her forgiveness, but worries for her safety should Danarius return. His fear is well placed, as the final confrontation goes horribly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is my first attempt in years at fanfiction, but my love of the Dragon Age series (and particularly one broody elf) has prompted my delving into it once more. This story has canon and non-canon aspects, though I tried my hardest to stay true to the personalities of the characters as best I could. Rated M for some violence and language, sexual themes (more so in some chapters than others), as well as an illusion to non-con. rape. This is a work in progress that I'm doing in my free time, but I fully intend to complete it in the near future. Any feedback is very much appreciated!

Guilty Pleasure - Chapter 1.

"Fenris," She breathed, pulling her gaze from the leather bound book in her lap. She was seated near the fire, it's warm light casting long shadows across her face. She had reacted to the noise of her chamber's door being pushed open, and now stared at the bowed head of the elf who stood in her doorway. He lifted his face just enough to peer through the fallen strands of white hair, green eyes dancing with the glow of the flames. Confusion and what he happily recognized as pleasant surprise was present in her expression, a faint smile gracing her lips. "What are you doing here? It's rather late. You do know we have an assignment tomorrow, right?"

He didn't answer, but proceeded to stalk quickly towards her, determination etched into the hard lines of his features. In one fluid motion, he took hold of her shoulders and hoisted her out of the red velvet chair, sending her book tumbling to the floor. Once standing he brought her closer to him, leaving only a sliver of space between their bodies. He didn't dare pull her flush against him, knowing he was unworthy of her touch. A small cry of pain escaped her lips. His clawed gauntlets were digging into flesh through the thin robes she wore due to his unintentional intensity. He loosened his hold of her immediately, the last thing he wanted to cause this woman was more pain.

Slowly, he worked up the courage to look into her face. Thankfully no anger or resentment showed from his transgression. Instead she simply looked more confused than when he first arrived unannounced. She opened her mouth to speak, shooting panic through him. He needed to say what he had come to, before his bravery vanished once again like it had so many times before. He couldn't afford to let her speak first, not without risking the hours of attempts he had made just to walk through her front door.

"I am sorry for my intrusion at this hour," He began, cutting her off before she could utter a syllable, "But I cannot wait another moment to speak to you about this. It has taken me far too long to be able to do so."

Barging in on the limited time she had for a quite moment alone was something he hated to have to do. She had been far too good to him these past three years, put up with far too much of his nonsense. Calling on her at this late an hour was just one foolish action of many. Why she had continued to seek out his company, during missions and in their off hours at the Hanged Man, he could not fathom. He knew if she had cut him completely out of her life, he would have deserved nothing less. Yet here he was. Intruding into her home, her bedchamber no less, the very place he had so wronged her, and she didn't bat an eye. He doubted that he ever could posses the same level of patience as her.

Peering down from her befuddled face, he focused his attention on her hands, pressed against his breastplate from the rough assistance standing she had received. He took one of his own from her shoulders and placed it over her hand closest to his heart. His tan skin covered her pale, which was decorated with numerous nicks and scars; mementos from battles and practice sessions with her daggers that had long since past. They only made her more beautiful to him, proof of her resolve to keep fighting, even when wounded. Her hands felt remarkably soft, despite the raw strength he knew, had witnessed personally, that lingered in the muscles and tendons that lay beneath. She felt just as he had remembered from their one night together, so long ago yet fresh in his mind as if it had been yesterday. He recalled the feel of an individual finger, gentle and light as a spring breeze, tracing each of the lyrium veins that ran down his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. He felt a pang of longing deep within him. How he wished he could feel that touch again, even if just once more.

No, he shook himself. That same longing was what had gotten him into this predicament. He needed to focus.

"Fenris?" A shiver ran through his body at the sound of his name on her tongue. He didn't respond immediately, hoping he could coax her into saying it by remaining silent. She complied with his unspoken request, tilting her head down and under his, brightest blue looking for emerald green, as she said again, "Fenris?"

Finally acknowledging her questioning tone, he tore his eyes away from their touching hands, and looked into her eyes. He couldn't help but let a small smile raise the corners of his mouth. She alone had that power over him, to make him feel happiness in any situation, even if the world seemed in chaos around them.

"Yes, my friend?" He answered.

"You wanted to say something?" She asked. If she had been confused before, now she was completely perplexed. She looked on at him expectantly, calmly waiting for him to continue with what he had come to her so late at night to say. Curses in Arcanum flew through his head at himself. How long had he stood there, looking the fool, holding her in place as he relived a memory? Seconds? Minutes? Surely not hours, though he knew the possibility for him to get so lost in such a moment was there. He steeled himself. If he was going to have any chance of feeling the way he did that night again, he had to say it, and say it now.

"I did. Yes. We have never-" He began. Why did his throat suddenly feel like ash? It seemed his body wanted to make this just as difficult as his mind did. Clearing his throat he continued, sounding slightly hoarser than usual. "We never discussed what happened between us, all those years ago."

"You, well, you didn't seem to want to talk about it." She replied, her face falling, turning her head from his view. He watched as color rushed to her cheeks, and reprimanded himself once again. Was it not enough that he had already hurt her physically tonight? He had to make her feel embarrassed as well? That was the last straw. Taking his remaining hand from her shoulder, he cupped the side of her face, gently turning her towards him.

"I was a fool," He professed, "I was weak. I couldn't bare facing my memories alone, and I couldn't stand the idea of pleading for your aid. Not for something as simple as reminders of a past I'm trying to be rid of. I ran. I ran like a scared child, because I was too proud to accept that I needed you so. I thought it would be better if you hated me, rather than see me so vulnerable."

"That night we spent together has haunted my sleep ever since. I remember your touch as if it were yesterday, and ache to feel it again. I know that I squandered the precious gift that is your trust. I seek your forgiveness, and, if you'll have me, a final opportunity of redemption. I can never hope to be the man you truly deserve, but I promise you this; Should you accept me, I will stand by your side, unerring, from this day forward, until the end. The Maker himself will be unable to separate us. I will never leave you again."

As he paused for a moment, he looked away. He focused his gaze into the fireplace to their left instead, terrified at what he was about to propose. However he hated the outcome it could bring, he knew that it must be said. He would not force her to endure him if she did not wish to. Stomach churning, he continued, "And if you do not have the ability to forgive my transgressions, which I myself do not know if I could do, than I make another promise. I will leave your chamber, your home, and we will never have to speak of this or that night from now on. I will offer myself as a silent, faithful companion, my sword ready to fell any who would stand in your way. If that is too much of me to hope for, than I would never darken your company with my presence again."

He waited, still looking into the burning logs of the fire as they cracked and popped. The silence between them seemed to stretch for ages, each second more painful to bear than the last. Finally, after what felt like eons but was more than likely mere moments, she sighed. His head jerked up, looking at her once more, anticipation and fear certainly painted across his face, though he cared little. All that mattered was what she would say with these next terrifying words.

"Fenris," She had said his name again, softer and more tender than he had ever heard it spoken. Dare he think that there was more than simple kindness and pity behind her tone? "I always thought that you regretted - that you felt like I had been a mistake."

"Never!" He exclaimed, far louder than he had intended to. He took her face in both hands now, looking at her with the glare of a man possessed. She startled at the shout, but relaxed almost immediately. He continued, quieter now, though still with the same mounting intensity that only grew as he spoke, the words coming far easier than he ever thought possible, "You were - are - the most beautiful thing to come into my miserable existence. I never fully understood how much someone could mean to me before you stepped into my life. You have stood by me since the day we met, even though the occasion of our meeting was due only to lies. I have done nothing but brought you trouble since then, both in battles that should never have involved you and in your bedroom, for Maker's sake! Yet here you are, as steadfast and kind as ever, though I give nothing but grief in return! If anyone should regret what happened between us, it should be you, Marian Hawke. For me, it was the best night of my life, and I will feel that way about it until the day I die."

His chest was heaving at this point, the passion from his words enough to knock the wind out of him. Dropping his hands from her face, he stepped back from her. He needed the space between them, for if she refused him, turned him away from her chambers and her life, he didn't know if he would be able to let go of her should they still touch.

Again the silence between them stretched on for what seemed decades. He held himself there, a living statue, terrified to move least it give her cause to reject him. She stood equally motionless, face still flushed, but with the look of someone with too many thoughts in their head all at once. Slowly, she raised her arms from her side, crossing them over her chest. With horror, he watched her turn, facing the wall her elegant four poster bed rested against. She did not move. She did not speak. She just stood, her back to him in pointed silence.

Grief, more painful than he had ever known, worse than that which he had felt the night he walked away, overcame him. His head fell again, arms hanging limply at his side. "I understand," He choked out over a lump in his throat the size of an apple, "I will not bother you any longer." Turning, he took the first few agonizing steps towards her door, realizing it would be the last time he would ever do so.

Before he could move more than a few feet, however, he heard quick movement behind him. He turned, and saw Hawke coming at him, a wild look in her eyes. She grabbed him by the shoulder joints of his armor, pulling him roughly towards her.

"Fenris," She growled, intensity hotter than the sun burning in her face, her eyes, her touch. Her short black hair flew into her eyes, but she made no attempt to correct it. "Be honest. Is it true? Is everything that you just told me true?"

He was taken aback, quite shocked by this side of her. "Every word," He answered, with more sincerity that he had ever known.

"Prove it to me," She wasn't asking. She was ordering. "Prove it to me this instant, Fenris."

"How?" He asked, overjoyed that he was being granted a chance to show her the extent of his affection. "Tell me, and it is done!"

She did not speak, but let go of his cuirass, instead taking hold of both his hands. She pulled him further towards her bed, until she was backed against one of it's posts and he was pressed full against the length of her. Winding a hand into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling him down while her eyes closed, she kissed him hard and sent fire through his nerves. How long had he wished to feel this again? Her hand around his neck, her soft mouth against his own, the feel of her thigh as it moved against his. It all culminated together in a building desire in his lower stomach that stretched ever farther throughout his whole body. Yet something was nagging at the back of his mind. It didn't feel right. Was he taking advantage of a delicate moment?

"Hawke," He breathed against her, finding it hard to focus from the way she ran her free hand up and down the opening in the back of his armor, "are you sure you want to do this?"

She let go of his head then, pulling her mouth away from his, and lifted the lids of her eyes. "You swore to me that every word you spoke was the truth." She stated plainly.

"And it was!" Fenris insisted, grabbing her arms once more, shaking her slightly in spite of himself. "I have never been more honest with someone than I was moments ago with you!"

A hungry smile spread wide across her face as she lifted the hand that had been in his hair to his face, cradling his cheek in her palm the same way he had hers. He closed his eyes and moved into her touch, relishing every moment his skin contacted hers. "You told me, in those same moments, that you would never leave me again. Did you mean that truthfully as well?"

"With all of my being, and everything that I am," He whispered, not a moment's hesitation in his words.

"Then I have nothing to fear, and nothing more to ask for," She said in response. "All I will ever need in this life and the next, is you by my side. But for now, I want to know just how much the night we spent together meant to you."

"And I don't want your answer in words," She blurted, cutting off Fenris before he could think to begin to answer her question, "I want a demonstration."

That was all the reassurance he needed. His troubled gaze turned to one of pure lust, matched in intensity by the one Hawke wore as she looked into his eyes.

"If that is what you wish," He growled, a devious grin parting his lips, "Than I am more than happy to oblige."

With that, the world melted away and it was just she and him. She torn at the buckles of his armor, throwing it piece by piece on the floor haphazardly, kissing him hard all the while. Stripped down to his leggings, his hands finally free from the accursed gauntlets, he reached for the knot that held her robes closed. His nimble fingers made quick work of them, and soon she stood before him in nothing but her small clothes and breast band. He barely had time to take in the beauty of her curved hourglass figure before she had shoved him backwards onto the mattress. He laughed loudly as she fell on top of him, his arms reaching around her, holding her tightly to him as if he never intended to let go. She laid her head against his collarbone, allowing a brief rest from the whirlwind that had brought them onto her bed so quickly.

She stretched out on top of him, as his hands ran up and down her body, insistent on committing the feel of every inch to memory. "I've dreamed of this moment," He said, the gravel in his voice rich with want, "For such a long time."

She raised her head to look at him, black hair once again in her face. This time however, Fenris raised a hand and gently brushed it from her eyes to better see the crystal blue. "So have I, Fenris." She breathed, "It feels like it's been -"

What Hawke was about to say, Fenris would never know. A tremendous crash sounded out over her words, and he sat bolt upright with a start. Pain shot through his neck as he tried to shake the fog out of his head. The room had suddenly become much darker, cooler as well, as if the fire that had just been burning had been out for some time. And where was Hawke? Hadn't she just been lying there with him?

The same crashing noise came again, this time with the hissing and yowling of two cats, fighting over Maker only knew in the ally outside. It was then that Fenris realized he was holding something in his hand. Thin where he gripped it, and widening outwards, he heard a swish of liquid come from inside as he moved the object around. A bottle of nearly empty wine. He sighed, realization quickly flooding his head. He leaned forward in the hard wooden chair with elbows resting on his knees, the bottle still in hand. He was situated in front of the remains of a small fire that had died in it's hearth hours ago.

A dream. A beautiful, perfect, torturous dream. He tried his hardest to recall as much as he could, grasping at straws of the brief euphoria his mind had allowed him while in the Fade. Snapshots of Hawke's face, her hands, her exposed, rounded hips danced around in his head, though the flow of how they ran together was already a distant memory.

He had hoped, he remembered now, that the alcohol would make sleep come to him easier, without thoughts of Hawke plaguing him. It had worked, at least as far as sleep was concerned, seeing as he had passed out with his head thrown over the back of the chair. No wonder there was a sharp pain whenever he moved his neck. Unfortunately it seemed that he couldn't escape his demons in a sleep fueled by copious amounts of drink, as Hawke had invaded his dreams once again.

He grumbled and forced himself from his unintended bed, quickly realizing the dream had affected him in the waking world as well. Stumbling over the discarded bottles of the other sleeping aids he had employed from earlier that night, he yanked and pulled at his leggings, which he noticed with slight embarrassment had grown considerably tighter than usual around his groin. Finally freeing his legs from the tangled mess of leather, he cast them off onto the cold tile floor. Apparently he had already seen to removing his tunic earlier in the night, though where it had been discarded he couldn't fathom at the moment. With a huff, he dropped himself in his small clothes on his back into the mess of furs and blankets that covered the bed. He looked over at his hand that still clutched the original wine bottle, shrugged to himself, and brought the glass to his lips. The remaining liquid was gone in a matter of a few short gulps. Pulling back his lips at the bitter dryness of the wine, he lobbed the now empty container across the room. Reveling in the sound the shattering glass made against the wall and tile as it fell, he tugged a loose covering over himself. He swore he could still feel the touch of her hand lingering on his face, and took guilty pleasure in the sensation.

Disappointment and anger at his failed attempt to have a single night of peace racked through his wine fogged mind. Of course her image would follow him into the Fade, how naive was he? She dogged his thoughts every waking moment of the day, and most nights previous. Why did he think more than his usual amount of alcohol before bed would make any difference? Stupidity. Pure stupidity on his part. If anything, the extra bottles seemed to have made his visions of her more vivid. Now all he had to show for his new found efforts at an uninterrupted sleep were a body part that would not relinquish it's interest in what had happened in the dream and a hangover to look forward to in the morning.

"Good," He thought to himself bitterly, "I deserve it after what I did to her."

Three years ago. Three years ago he had walked out on Hawke. Left her undressed in her bed, confused and visibly shaken by his sudden insistence on leaving. He had flat out refused her offer to try and work things out. After intruding into her home, taking advantage of her trust and practically forcing himself on her, he had been too much of a coward to fully explain why he acted as he did. She had been the one and only person he had ever known who made any attempt to understand him, to see where his rash anger and bitter temperament came from, rather than just distance herself from him. She was the only person who had looked upon him with kindness and sympathy, who had tried to help him talk through his past torments as a slave. He had abandoned the one person he hoped never to allow harm to come to.

She had been unwaveringly loyal, helped defend him from those who would steal him away, force him back to Tevinter, back to that bastard Danarius. She had been forgiving when he had betrayed her in the Fade, if only momentarily, all for the false promise of enough power to make his former master pay. She had even offered to be by his side in the damned slaver holding caves, after all he had done to her on that night. He was weak. He knew he needed her there with him, and so accepted her company.

While there, she had seen him spit venom in the face of Hadriana, promising her mercy for information, and then literally crushing her life in his hand, his grudge against her too deeply seated to ignore. And what had she done? Not chastised him for his falsehood, not shied away from his murderous glares and blood covered hand, still clutching the pulped mass that had been Hadriana's heart. She had reached out to him, placed a gentle hand on his arm, and given him even more undeserved understanding and comfort, only to have it shoved back into her face by him. He had shaken her away just as he had before, just as he had sworn time after time that he would never allow himself to do again. When he went to her to apologize for his unleashed anger at her expense, again she had forgiven him, without a moment's hesitation.

He stared up into the tattered canopy of his bed, running his tattooed fingers through his mussed hair, and felt something other than his skin brush past his temple. He raised his hand above him, and with a pang realized what it had been. There, still tied around his right wrist, acting both as a token of happier times and penance for the pain he had caused who it belonged to, was the small slip of red fabric.

He had ripped the cloth piece off of the sheet that covered them that night. He remembered the event clearly, remembered holding her tightly to himself. Her head rested on his chest while he watched her bosom rise and fall gently as she breathed in her sleep. The smile she had worn since they had collapsed into each other's arms still lit her face. The blissful warmth that radiated from her skin against his was more wonderful and comforting than any sensation he had ever known.

But the beauty of the moment was marred, disfigured by the memories that had flooded back to him such a short time ago. Memories of a past burned from him with lyrium had been present, but what troubled him more were those that came back from the time after Danarius had laid claim to him. The injustice that he had been forced to recall them while he had made love with this exquisite woman was insurmountable. Flashes. They had only been flashes, but they had been enough to send chills through his body and make him feel sick to his stomach, even with her soft caressing and gentle words beneath him.

Danarius, calling for Fenris to be brought into his chamber at some ungodly hour of the night. The door closing with a snap and hearing the bolt being set in the frame. A wicked smile and voice with only malice and cruelty behind it. His clothing being ripped from his body as he was thrown to his knees. His hair being pulled and face being slapped, as he remained motionless and compliant. Evil things whispered in his ears, false pretenses for loving words. Being shoved forward with such force that he had to catch himself with his hands on the cold stone floor. Pain that raked through his whole body, shooting up his spine and through all his limbs. His eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched, nails digging into his own flesh. Feeling the agony, wanting desperately to cry out, but knowing further torment would follow should he do so. Night after night of this torture, for as long as he could remember. Sometimes weeks apart, other times every night for days at a time.

Tearing himself back to the present he flew upright, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He willed the foul memories to disappear from his mind as best he could. He flung an arm out to his side, his hand connecting with yet another bottle, and clutched it. With fury like a caged animal, he hurled it too across the room with far more force than any previous. The shattering of glass was accompanied with the crash of some unknown object, but Fenris could care no less. The more destruction he could bring to the magister's old mansion, the better.

He tried to force himself to think of something, anything else. The wine still in his veins quickly complied, once again bringing Hawke's face swimming before him. This time, however, sadness shown through in her eyes, and he could see tears that clouded her vision. The night came back to him in full, and he could not tell if he was either too exhausted or simply did not care anymore to try and stop what he was about to relive for quite possibly the hundredth time. He laid back down, and fell into yet another memory.

She sat herself up on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around and covering herself with the blankets. She had become suddenly much more modest when she had awoken, finding him already fully dressed and standing by the fire. Fenris scowled at this. Making her feel her body, her _perfect_ body, was something that needed to be hidden was just the first of many wounds to be inflicted on her that night.

Recognizing the anger in his face, Hawke misinterpreted it's intention. "Was it that bad?" She asked with a small chuckle. She wasn't fooling him. The slightest edge of hurt in her voice could be heard, and he knew she was doing a marvelous job of hiding just how disappointed she was to find him like this rather than lying beside her.

"I'm sorry, it's not - ," he began, turning to face her fully, stepping back towards the bed they had just shared, "It was fine." As soon as the words escaped his lips, he knew he had chosen poorly. Fine? He had just experienced the most wonderful feeling he had ever known with this woman, regardless of the unwanted memories, and he called it fine? He glanced, and saw she had turned away, black hair shielding him from her view, as she looked off into a far corner. For an elf who prided himself on his exceptional vocabulary, he had chosen the worst possible moment to let it fail him.

"No, that is insufficient," He stumbled, trying to correct what had already been done, "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

"Your markings," She continued, looking back up to him. Was that disgust in her eyes supposed to be directed towards herself? "They hurt, don't they? I'm sorry, I should have known better, I didn't want or – or mean to hurt you."

He was incredulous. How was it possible she thought she could ever do him wrong? _He_ had been the one to come into her home unannounced. _He _had been the one to offer but a few paltry words to explain his intrusion. _He_ had kissed her, none too gently in truth, pushed her against a wall, dragged her into her chambers with little more grace than a charging bull, and fallen on her. _He_ had torn the clothes from her body and thrown her on the bed. _He_ had given only the slightest afterthought to look at her and make sure she wasn't opposed to his advances. She, after all, had not asked for any of this.

Panting, with one hand grasping her thigh, the other wrapped around her back, clutching at her shoulder, he had looked into her face. He'd seen with a great thrum of satisfaction that she was breathing just as heavily as him, face flushed and eyes clouded with longing. She gave the smallest of nods, smiling up from the pillows. It seemed she had known exactly why he had stopped, and intended to put his mind at ease. Wrapping her hands around the back of his head, she pulled him close so as to whisper into his ear.

"I want this," Was all she said, and that was all it took. Before he knew it, he had given up all resistance, allowing the primal side of him to take over.

After all of that, after giving him so much, here she was. Concerned that she had caused him pain? How was that possible? It was as if she had been the one throwing herself at him. For this and an eternity's worth of reasons more, this woman was more than he ever deserved, and he knew it.

As terrible as it made him feel, knowing he was not worthy of her company made saying what came next the slightest bit easier. "It's not that. I began to remember - my life before Danarius - just flashes. It's too much. This is too fast, I – I cannot do this." At least it was partially true.

The weight of his words seemed to break over her. It took her a long moment to respond, and in that time, realization of what he was doing dawned across her face. The utter despair in her voice when she finally spoke next was enough to break his heart, had he himself not already done so. Damn his pride. Damn his inability to fathom opening himself up to her in the manner needed to remain by her side.

"We can work through this," She was begging him.

He needed to get out of there. Another moment and he would not have the strength to do so. The way her eyes began to fill with tears, tears he had caused, was more than he could stand.

"I'm sorry... All I wanted was to be happy. Just for a little while." He turned on the spot, eyes averted from her, and walked to the door. Once he stood flush with it, he paused, resting his hand on the frame.

"Forgive me," He whispered, sure it was too low for her to hear. With that, he whisked himself out into the hall, grasped hold of the brass doorknob and pulled it shut with one fluid movement.

He sank against the wood silently, leaning his head and back against the heavy oak door. With a ferocious pull at his heart, he recognized a noise he had only heard twice before; once when Hawke had lost Bethany to the Deep Roads, and again when Leandra was taken by the madman. Now he heard it again, because of him. A sharp yet delicate intake of breath, followed by what he knew were tears finally spilling from her eyes. She had done so well keeping them at bay while he was inside, but now when she thought no one else could hear her, they came.

That had been the moment, he thought, bringing himself back to the darkened bedroom with difficulty. That time he spent pressed against her door, listening to her sob because of him, was without a doubt the lowest point of his entire existence. Nothing Danarius ever did or could possibly do again to him would wound him as much as knowing that he had been the cause of her grief.

He wished he could work up the same courage he had in the dream. He would go to her in an instant, beg her forgiveness, try to set things right. He would gladly begin the long task of making up for all the pain he had caused her, if only he could bring himself to ask for the opportunity. But no, he couldn't. He was a coward who preferred to drown his sorrows in wine rather than face his mistakes. Besides, he though, it had been too long. Surely any feelings she had once possessed for him were long since dead. Years had passed, and he had taken too much time. She surely would not have waited for him. Maker knew he wouldn't have in her place.

And yet, despite all his self loathing and pity he tortured himself with, he bitterly admitted to himself that his decision to leave her was best. As time had moved on, he had come to the realization that the further Hawke was from him, the safer she would be. Even though it had lead to her anguish and sorrow, his abandonment meant she would continue to live. Danarius was still out there, still looking for him no doubt. He knew it was likely he would come for him soon. If Hawke was there when it happened, was still by his side when he came, what then? The thoughts that ran through his mind were enough to shake him to his core.

Sighing deeply, he resigned himself to yet another long night of disconnected images centered around her and his cruelty. He pulled the covering up to his shoulders, the faintest beginnings of a headache throbbing in the back of his skull. Hopefully he could sleep off most of this mistake by morning. Closing his eyes, he felt unconsciousness envelope him again. It wasn't long before he traveled the Fade once more, Hawke's face flitting in and out of his visions.


	2. Chapter 2

Guilty Pleasure - Chapter 2.

Fenris awoke again some hours later to another loud crash and the sound of a man's voice calling out insults to an inanimate object's mother. Light poured through the threadbare curtains that covered his windows, suggesting that it must be well into the morning. Pushing himself up, his head spun and throbbed, though not as severely as he had thought it would. Years of dedication to binge drinking seemed to be paying off. He laughed bitterly to himself as he raised a hand to massage his forehead.

Slowly he stood from the bed, untangling himself from the mess of blankets that had wrapped around him in the night. The leggings he had thrown remained on the floor where they had landed, and he now picked them back up. Pulling them on would be far less difficult than taking them off in the wee hours of the morning had been. He paused, looking around the chamber as he took in the utter bedlam of last night's misguided exploits.

Several green bottles of various shapes and sizes lay scattered haphazardly between the fireplace and the dark wood chair he had used as a temporary bed. Many were knocked on their sides, some dripping the last remnants of the liquid they had contained onto the broken tiles of the floor. The tunic he had lost track of was thrown unceremoniously over the head of a statue that stood by the door, his broadsword laid across its arms. Pieces of his armor were piled in a heap on top of the table, where one of the benches had been upended and left. Across the room from the bed deep red stains marked the stone wall. The bottle from the nightstand must have still had wine in it. The blemishes trickled down to the floor, where they met with shattered remains. Among the green glass were the broken pieces of a large vase that had sat on a shelf above, the source of the additional crashing he had heard in his stupor, it seemed.

Heavy footsteps of the man downstairs tromped up and towards his door. It swung open, revealing the stout frame of a dwarf, a crossbow slung over his shoulder and exasperation covering his face.

"Six years, Broody!" Varric exclaimed, stepping into the chamber, "You've been squatting here for six years, and you still haven't picked up the mess in your foyer! I caught my foot on a chunk of marble the size of my head! Nearly dropped Bianca too, how could I have lived with myself? How you stay here and don't wear shoes I'll never understa- By the Ancestors..."

Looking around, he had finally noticed the utter chaos that surrounded the elf and the disheveled state he himself was in. Varric looked at Fenris with a mixture of bemusement and what he recognized with annoyance was concern, his bushy brow nearly disappearing into his hairline.

"You alright, elf?" He asked, treading cautiously, "Have a rough night, did we?"

Fenris raised a hand and ran it through his hair, looking from the detritus around him to the dwarf. "It was a - a difficult evening, yes." He finally answered.

Varric sighed and shook his head. Fenris knew he was biting back at something, and was thankful for his decision not to say it. He didn't need a lecture on the stupidity of his actions, he was all too aware.

"Anyway, Hawke has a job for us," Varric continued, getting to the purpose of his visit, "She asked me to see if you wouldn't mind coming along. Might even get to slaughter a few slavers on this one, if you're lucky."

Perfect, he thought. He needed the opportunity to work off some of his anger at himself. Knowing it could potentially be slavers who got the brunt of his bad mood made it all the sweeter. And Hawke would be there.

He knew her presence would just lead to an equally difficult time falling asleep tonight and that he did not deserve to be in her presence in the least, but he cared little. Even after all he had done, he still selfishly reveled in her company whenever it was possible to be near her. Added to the fact, he reasoned with himself, she had been the one to ask for his assistance. How could he refuse her?

"You, eh, may want to clean yourself up a bit first," Varric said with a chuckle, looking him up and down again, "And maybe put some clothes on. You're not going to be much of a threat to anyone naked."

Fenris blanched, realizing that he had never put on the blasted leggings he still clutched in his hand. He had been standing in front of Varric the whole time in nothing but his small clothes. He rushed to pull the pants on, color returning to his face in the brightest shade of red. Varric was laughing out loud, doubled over clutching his stomach, and the sight of it infuriated him.

"Should you not also be preparing for Hawke's job?" He growled, throwing a murderous glare in his direction.

"Alright, alright," Varric said, wiping a tear from his eye as he straightened up, still visibly amused by Fenris' predicament. "I get the point, Broody. Meet us by the Hanged Man when you're ready, and don't forget a shirt."

He turned, walking from the room quickly. From the stairwell, Fenris heard him say something to himself about having a better description for Hawke's biography. His anger flaring again, he stalked forward, slamming the door to his chamber hard enough to shake the glass in the windows. Leave it to that damn dwarf to make his humiliation worse. Now the entire population of Kirkwall was liable to know just how far down his torso his markings reached.

He stormed around the room, collecting his things and kicking at the bottles as he went. He would wash and find something to ease his throbbing head, and then would be off. Once all his clothing and armor were in his hands, he stopped momentarily and heaved a deep sigh. If the events from the last fifteen minutes were any indication, he groused, today was going to be challenging at best.

Later in the evening that same day, long after their job was completed and the blood was washed from his blade and gauntlets, Fenris sat in his usual spot with their group inside the Hanged Man. He nursed the last remnants of his hangover with a mug of sour ale. Isabela had convinced them all to come by for a night of Wicked Grace and drinking, and so far had been reaping the benefits. A large number of sovereigns were piled in front of her, and he did not see that changing any time soon.

"Ha! I win again!" She shouted happily, throwing herself forward, spilled cleavage and all, to collect the coins in the middle of the table. The look of discomfort from Anders, who sat directly across the table from her, was enough to pull a smirk from Fenris. He did love watching the mage squirm, whatever the reason was.

"I don't get it!" Merrill moaned, throwing her cards on the table in frustration, "How does she always win? I even had a good hand this round, I swear!"

"It's 'cause she cheats, Daisy," Varric explained, giving her a comforting pat on the arm.

"Ah! You wound me, Varric!" Isabela cried, throwing a hand to her chest in mock horror.

"What I want to know," Hawke questioned, a curious smile crossing her lips, "Is where you hide the blasted cards. It's not like you have sleeves, or, well, much clothing at all to slip them into."

"Stick around tonight, love. Once the rest of these louts go home, I can give you a hands on demonstration," Isabela quipped with a devious wink.

Anders hacked, choking on his mouthful of ale. Aveline thumped him hard in the back, sending him sputtering. "Maker, Isabela!" He yelled, ale spilling down his front as he jerked forward.

"Really, Anders? At this point would you expect anything less from her?" Hawke laughed, rolling her eyes. "Sorry Isabela, as tempting as the offer is, I think I'll pass."

"Tease," Isabela pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, "Honestly, Hawke, it's like you're made of stone! What's a girl, or anyone for that matter, got to do to pique your interest?"

"Not knowing what half the men who frequent this tavern look like without their clothes on would be a start," Fenris growled into his mug. The whole table, less Isabela, burst into laughter.

"Oh ho! Broody cracks a joke!" Varric cheered.

"It wasn't a joke," He grumbled. He knew that if Hawke did indeed want to accept the tramp's offer, though the chance that she would was laughable at best, he would have been in no place to say otherwise. It didn't mean the idea had to sit well with him, though. The thought of that harlot touching her was enough to make his blood boil.

"Not like who she spends her nights with is any of your business anyway," Isabela jabbed, falling against the back of her chair with a humph.

"Could we leave the discussion of who I would and wouldn't sleep with out of this, please?" Hawke pleaded, embarrassed. She gave a nervous glimpse towards Fenris. He caught her eye, and she turned quickly away, focusing back on the group at large, but not before he saw her turn rosy as she began to blush. His heart raced in his chest, and he felt color rise in his cheeks as well. He couldn't help but stare at her longer than was wise, oblivious to the conversation that continued around him. He foolishly allowed a hopeful look to spread across his features, and regretted it quickly enough. When he finally managed to pull his eyes away from her, he saw that Anders was glaring at him, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. He returned the fierce look, and forced himself to focus back on the conversation at hand, willing the heat in his face to go away.

"Why don't we speculate on who Varric should bed for once, hmm?" Hawke suggested, fluster in her tone. They were still on her with this topic? Did no one in this dysfunctional group know how to talk about anything other than Hawke and her sex life? Fenris wasn't sure how long he could listen to it.

"Now now, Hawke," Varric chided, "You'll make Bianca jealous!"

"And besides, you're the Champion of Kirkwall, remember?" Isabela purred, shooting a wicked look at Fenris. Maker, had she seen him too? Was this her way of trying to get back at him for his earlier insult? "You could have men, women, anyone, lining down the streets for miles for a chance to hop between the sheets with you, Love! I could point out the good ones to you. There's a bloke who works the docks who has the most _wonderful _trick with a bandanna, he'll knock the boots right off your feet!"

Fenris shoved backward, standing quickly as he carved fresh gouges into the rough table with his gauntlets. The group froze, all eyes on him.

"What's the matter, Fenris?" Merrill asked with concern. She tilted her head to the side and looked up at him curiously. "Are you not feeling well? You seem a bit flustered."

"I am fine," He snapped, fishing for any excuse to leave the table. "I just... Need more ale."

"Well, that's silly," She continued, glancing into his mug. "You've barely touched what you have here!"

Damn that simple fool of a blood mage! "It's stale. I'm getting a fresh mug," He muttered.

grabbing the cup and stalking over to the bar, he sat down with his back to the group on one of the rickety stools as he waited for the bartender to notice him.

"What's the matter with him? Do you think maybe he really is feeling ill?" Merrill's voice carried across the room. He could hear it clearly as if he were back in the same seat he had just left.

"In a manner of speaking, Kitten," Isabela giggled, along with several of the others.

Another chair scrapped against the floorboards, and this time Hawke's voice carried over to him.

"I need some air. The smell of vomit is making feel like I'm going to do so myself." She said poignantly. Without waiting for a response, he heard the sharp tap of her boots on the floor, followed shortly by the crack and snap of the door opening and closing.

"Oh no, she's not feeling well too?" Merrill asked sadly.

"Daisy, you really are very unobservant some times. Adorable, but completely dense," Varric sighed. "Well, we might as well take a breather too. No point in Isabela taking more of our coin when we're not all present."

A murmur of agreement rippled through those left around the table. Fenris glanced over his shoulder at the group. Aveline walked out the front door as well, he presumed to keep Hawke company. Isabela sauntered over to the far right end of the bar, took a seat, and was almost immediately set upon by several men, offering to buy her drinks. Varric stayed at the table with Merrill, apparently giving her some pointers on their card game so as not to be so easily taken advantage of. The mage, to his disgust, was walking directly towards him, coming to join him at the bar. Fenris turned around once more, tossing back what was left of the ale in his first mug. The bartender walked up to him just as Anders sat down on his left.

"Another ale?" He asked gruffly. Fenris nodded, handing the portly man his glass and the coin for the drink.

"And you?" He said, turning to look at Anders, "What'll you have?"

"The same," He said, handing payment over also. The bartender turned away and walked over to the tap, filling their mugs.

"I thought your _partner _did not approve of you drinking?" Fenris asked, scowling at the man next to him.

"Justice doesn't approve of drunkenness, but that doesn't mean I can't have a pint or two now and then," Anders answered matter-of-factly. A smirk crossed his face, and he continued, "Besides, we all can't drink ourselves into oblivion and be found next to naked with shattered bottles all over our floors, now can we?"

Fenris bristled, but didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. He would have to remember to throttle Varric later. The barman was in front of them again, having returned with their ales.

"Say what you have come to and leave," Fenris snarled once the man had left.

"Straight to the point as always then. Alright. Fine," Anders swiveled on his stool, his whole body facing Fenris, one hand grasping his mug, the other resting on his knee. He furrowed his brow, and continued, doing a poor job of holding back the anger in his tone.

"Something is going on between you and Hawke," he said. "And don't pull the, 'you're insane, there's nothing going on' card. I've seen – all of us have seen – the way you two act around each other. Not just tonight, either! Every time you two go on some job together you shoot glances when you think the other isn't looking. It's the only time you don't look completely sour. It's painfully obvious."

Something stirred in Fenris' chest again, and he clenched his teeth to prevent it showing outwardly. He knew he was guilty of watching Hawke when they were together, and truthfully he didn't care if the others had seen it. But she looked after him as well? Even after all this time?

"I can't imagine what Hawke sees in you," He spit, taking a swig from his glass. "A woman like her deserves better than a fugitive slave who's cold as ice unless he's in a rage about mages who've done nothing to wrong him."

"You think yourself a better option, then? A better man for her?" Fenris questioned, annoyance quickly rising in him. He turned his head and laughed bitterly in Ander's face, "It seems to me that you are just as much a fugitive as I am. Am I mistaken, or did you yourself not only run from the circle, but the Grey Wardens as well? Weren't they the ones who helped you avoid the templars in the first place? And you pay them back in abandonment, how fitting. Who's to say you wouldn't run from her as well, like everything else in your past?"

"Anyone would be better for her than you," Anders answered, the venom rising still in his tone, "But yes, as a matter of fact, I do think I would be a better option. At least someone like me would be able to show some compassion, some form of caring! You, you're always either clinically depressed or angry as a bronto with a bee sting! If she stays with you, she's just as likely to end up dead from one of your violent outbursts as she would be going into the Deep Roads with wooden daggers!"

"I would never bring harm to Hawke!" Fenris hissed, the grip on his mug tightening so that he knew his knuckles must shine white. His head immediately filled with visions of her teary face from that night as he had left her room. He would never intentionally cause her further harm anyway, he justified to himself. He continued, eager to hide any signs of his flashback, "I may be angry, but unlike some, I am able to steady myself. Have you forgotten what being an abomination has done to you? What would happen to her if Justice decided she was in the way of saving some precious apostate?"

Anders' eyes bulged, his nose flaring and jaw clenching. Fenris had hit a soft spot, and he knew it. However angry what he had said made the mage, he didn't seem to have a response. He took a long moment to respond, drinking from his mug to fill the silence. When he finally looked back to Fenris, who had once again turned away from the mage and towards the bar, a new found determination was etched in his glare.

"How I, or anyone else for that matter, would treat Hawke is beside the point," He said. Lowering his voice to a deadly whisper, he continued, "You must see that you couldn't possibly be a comfort to her, only a danger. Say you are able to control your rage, as unlikely as that is. What happens when your former master comes to collect his property, like you say he will? You claim he's dangerous, will do whatever it takes to regain his investment, regardless of if that means your death or not. If he doesn't care whether _you_ live or die, what's to stop him killing anyone who gets in his way as he comes for you? Would you be so selfish as to put Hawke in front of such danger?"

The words cut into Fenris like knives. As much as he hated it, as much as he wished to deny it, Anders was right. He had thought on this very point himself just last night. How often did he use the terrifying vision of Hawke, struck down and bleeding, motionless on the ground with Danarius leering over her, as reason not to run to her and beg forgiveness? More often than he wished to recount, in truth. If cowardice had been what had gotten him into his predicament, fear was a factor that kept him there.

Fenris' posture relaxed, his shoulders rolling and head bowing. He stared into the dregs of his glass, and spoke, a defeated air surrounding his words, "It is done. Leave it be. Leave me be."

"It's – It's over then? Between you two? Well," Anders said, slight bewilderment in his voice. Fenris peered at him, and saw pleasant surprise in his features. He was holding himself taller, as if he had won some great victory. It only made Fenris more bitter. "Good. I always knew she had some sense."

"Do not make light of this," Fenris seethed, bile rushing back to his words, his back stiff and brow furrowing once more. He thought he heard the tiniest of cracks from the mug he held – his grip had tightened around it again. "Leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"You mean," Anders probed, a look of utter disbelief slapped across his face, "She wasn't the one who left you? _You _left _her_?"

Fenris did not answer, choosing instead to continue staring ahead of himself at a grimy window behind the bar. Anders correctly assumed the silence to be a confirmation of his accusation. Outrage was rife in his words as he tore into Fenris then, shouting loud enough to cause many heads to turn in their direction.

"I see! This makes much more sense now!" He roared, jumping to his feet, fist pounding on the counter hard enough to upturn his half full mug of ale, "You got what you wanted and went on your way! You used her, didn't you? Didn't you! You took advantage of her kindness, wormed your way into her heart, made her pity you, and then left once you'd had your fun! No wonder she's so meek around you!"

"I never _used_ her!" Fenris yelled, though he himself did not know how true his words were. To most anyone but himself, he could understand how what he had done would appear so. He raised himself off his stool in kind, facing Anders, snarling. His mug laid shattered in pieces on the bar from his grip as he had taken in the mage's accusation. "I would _never _use her!"

"You're a lying bastard!"

Before he could respond, Fenris had lurched backwards, only just catching himself on the stool behind him before he had fallen completely to the ground. His jaw felt like it had been hit with a maul. He tasted blood and felt it trickle from the side of his mouth; his teeth had broken into his flesh. He raised his right hand, red fabric still tied around his wrist, to his mouth, brushing the blood off of his face. He looked up at his attacker, white hot fury rising in him. With savage satisfaction, Fenris saw that Anders' still clutched fist was torn and bleeding. He felt the lyrium in his skin burn, and saw out of the corner of his eye the white markings coming to life on his flesh.

"Your first," He growled, in a steady voice more frightening than death, spitting blood onto the floor, "And last mistake, mage."

With a sudden lunge like a hunting cat, Fenris flew at Anders, a glowing hand pulled back into a fist, ready to strike. Anders' eyes sparked blue along with the veins in his skin as he readied himself for the attack. Good, Fenris raged in his head. Finally a chance to rid themselves of this monster once and for all.

"Enough!" A shrill woman's cry sounded throughout the whole of the tavern. Before either Anders or Fenris could strike out at one another, a spell with the force of a whirlwind materialized between them. Both men were thrown into stools, chairs, and bar patrons as they flew backwards. Fenris felt the back of his head strike the floor, flashes of light popping into view. He jumped to his feet, hand pressed to the back of his skull, and turned to where the magic had come from. Back near the table where their night had started, Merrill stood firm, her dark wooden staff still pointed towards the men.

"That is absolutely enough!" She ordered, resting her pose as she brought her staff up and to her side. Her face still firm, she continued to yell at the two of them, "You're both grown men, stop bickering like children!"

"You tell 'em, Daisy," Varric encouraged, walking up beside her.

"You two need to get over yourselves," Came Isabela's voice. Fenris turned to see she was still perched on the far end of the bar, rolling her eyes as she leaned back against the counter, one leg casually draped over the other. She seemed disappointed that the fight had been cut so short. "Honestly, you're like two dogs around a bitch in heat."

"This was concerning Hawke," Fenris muttered, glowering at her, "Not you."

The front door slammed open just then, Aveline rushing in with, to Fenris' embarrassment, Hawke. They clearly had heard the commotion inside, and had ran in to see what was going on.

"What in the name of Andraste happened in here!" The guard captain demanded. Both women took in the chaos that lay before them; Aveline glaring between Fenris, Merrill, and Anders, unsure who to place the blame on. Hawke however glanced once at Anders, still on the floor with his limbs tangled in a pile of furniture, and then immediately found Fenris' gaze. She looked upon him with bewilderment at first, then dawning understanding of what had happened. It was only then that he realized his markings still burnt, sending white light off into the dark corners of the bar. He tried in vain to calm himself, still locking eyes with Hawke as she continued to look at him with growing concern. How was it she always had an inkling of what had happened before anyone could open their mouth? That woman had always been too observant for her own damn good. She began to cross the room, taking the first few steps towards him.

He needed to get out of there. There was no way he would permit her sympathy, her concern, or her kindness. Not here, in front of the mage who insisted on, and all those who had heard the accusations of, him having used her as a sexual plaything that had been thrown away. With great difficulty, he tore his gaze from Hawke, and marched himself past Anders, past the others, and past her, out the front door and into the streets of Lowtown, the door left swinging behind him.

He walked briskly into the night, skin still glowing faintly as he fumed. He hadn't gone more than a hundred feet before he heard the door to the tavern open and close again, with quick footfalls growing louder and closer to him. Typical. Of course she would follow him, he growled to himself. She would be concerned for his well being.

"Fenris," She said, catching up to him in a matter of moments. She pulled even with him and matched his pace. "Fenris, please talk to me. What happened in there?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He snarled, "Your precious abomination lost his temper and decided the best course of action would be to strike me in the face."

"Don't call him that! And I'm sure you contributed somewhat to the problem too, Fen- wait, he punched you?" Hawke stammered. She threw herself in front of him, cutting off his path so as to prevent him from continuing on. He lurched forward, nearly running into her for all the determination he had to keep moving. He tried to move around her, but she was too quick on her feet, and cut him off again.

"Sit still and let me see your face! Maker!" She breathed, seeing the fresh trickle of blood that had escaped his lips. She reached up to him, touching his face with the utmost care. Using the tips of her fingers, she turned him slightly so as to get a better look at the growing bruise on his jaw. A sigh fell from her lips, and she shook her head. No doubt she was frustrated by the escalated tension between the elf and the mage. "It looks painful, but I doubt anything is broken. I'm sorry, Fenris, if I had been inside I would have stepped between you fools before you hurt each other."

He gave an involuntary shudder. Her hand. Her soft, delicate, gentle hand was touching his skin. The warmth that spread from it's contact was intoxicating, and he couldn't help but sigh contentedly. He felt the rage that had so recently consumed him ebb quickly away, along with it the fire in his skin and light of his markings. She moved her arm so as to make her full palm rest against the side of his face, and he nearly went over the edge. How was this possible? How was it that after all this time, all he had done, she still could show him such tenderness? An overwhelming desire to bring her into his arms and kiss her flooded through him.

Sudden realization at what he was doing rang through his head. No, he couldn't, it wasn't right, wasn't fair to her. The mage's words still sounded in his head, accompanied by images of Hawke injured, bleeding, dead, at Danarius' feet. This had to end now. She needed to stop touching him, least he lose himself completely. Frustration at his lack of control creeped into his blissful moment, enough for him to steady himself. He took a firm hold of her outstretched hand and pulled it from his face, but couldn't bring himself to drop it. He looked down at her, annoyance from his weakness surely appearing to be anger at her gesture.

"Do not touch me," He said pointedly. He watched her face flush as she took in his words.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright," She said in a small voice, looking into his face. She made no effort to pull her hand from his. She meant to make this difficult then.

"Keep your sympathy," He spit, throwing her hand from his with far more force than needed. "I have no use for it."

"Fenris," She said, a pleading look crossing her face, "Is it so terrible to know I was worried about you? That I cared enough to come see if you were alright?" The hurt that rang in her voice was enough to make him feel as though he had been hit in the face again. He knew he must leave before his resolve to push her away faltered once more.

He stared off over her shoulder, unable to look her in the face. "I do not need or want your concern," He growled. With that, he stepped out and around her, stalking away into the night.

This time no footsteps followed behind him. He was both relieved and saddened by this. He rounded a corner and chanced a look back to where he had left her. She remained there still, frozen in mid step as if she had meant to give chase and thought better of it. Slowly she turned, walking back towards the tavern which had once again come to life in their brief moments together outside. He couldn't help but think he saw her shoulders droop and head fall, even the slightest bit, as she faded into the light of the opening doorway.

He stood there for a long moment, telling himself again and again that it was for the best, but could not help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had hurt her yet again, when he had just sworn fervently that he would never do such a thing. He sighed heavily, and continued on his way home, absentmindedly placing his hand over and holding the red memento on his wrist. There were at least three or four more bottles of wine in the basement, he thought to himself. Perhaps tonight he would have better luck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Sorry it has taken me so long to update, but I've been hard at work! This is the longest chapter out of them all, (I seriously debated with whether or not to split this into two, but decided it worked better all together) and my favorite so far. There should be at least one more chapter coming after this, so stay tuned for the conclusion! **FAIR WARNING: **This chapter has some mild descriptions of gore, as well as more sexual themes and all around content that warrants the M rating I gave it. As always, feedback and comments are very much welcomed and appreciated!

Guilty Pleasure - Chapter 3

The woman watched with an air of annoyance as he paced back and forth across the broken tiles in front of her. She knew the information she had provided had set him on edge, but did not seem to grasp the situation that it placed him in. He fingered the smooth parchment of the letter, tucked away in one of the pouches on his belt. As much as he would have liked to, he could not allow himself to react solely on emotion. This meeting was very likely to be a trap, and he knew it. Still, the thought of going to her, seeing her with his own eyes, making a connection to part of his past he had only brief glimpses of, was almost enough to make him leave for the Hanged Man this instant without a further thought. He forced himself to stop moving, and turned towards the woman instead.

"You are sure your information is correct?" He asked desperately for what he knew was at least the third time. "You are certain that it is her?"

The woman sighed, crossing her arms over her heavily armored chest. Her ginger head tilted to one side as she spoke, voice full of contempt at repeating herself yet again. "My men saw a ship with the same name you provided docking early this morning. There was a woman on board who matched your description to the letter. She was alone. I don't know what else you want from me, that's everything I and my men were able to find out."

He slammed his fists against the table, the letter now clutched in his hand, irritation at her inability to see the potential for an ambush directly influencing his actions. Did she not see the danger? It was the perfect strategy, something painfully typical of Danarius. How could she not understand? He needed more than assumptions. He needed absolute certainty before he made his move.

He gritted his teeth and tried to clam himself. She'd done everything he had requested of her with few questions asked after all, something highly uncommon for the guard captain. She'd brilliantly cooked up some false story about a lead on lyrium smugglers using the ship in question to transport their goods into Kirkwall. After some finagling of the patrol roster, a few guardsmen had been assigned to keep constant watch over the harbor for the past several days. The moment her men had reported the arrival of the ship and its passengers, she had made her way to his home, informing him immediately. He could not blame her for being frustrated.

He breathed, willing his temper to die down. Through a clenched jaw, he said, "I need to know if this is a trap before I act."

"I've done all I can, Fenris," Aveline snipped, standing up from her chair. "It's up to you at this point. I can't stick my neck out any further for this." And with that, she turned and walked quickly towards the exit.

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Hawke," She fumed. "Maker knows I've tried my best."

Fenris' head shot up as he looked to the chamber doorway, his heart jumping into his throat. With embarrassment, he realized he had heard Aveline correctly. Standing in the opening to his room was Hawke, an eyebrow cocked with a look of amused confusion as she leaned against the wall. He stood straight, running a gauntleted hand through his hair, unsure what to say. He hadn't seen much of her since the night at the Hanged Man nearly two weeks ago, and had spoken to her even less. As much as his stomach churned at the idea of speaking to her after leaving in the street the way he had, he couldn't help but be pleased to see her in his home.

"Hawke," He choked, his throat suddenly quite dry. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, answering in a light, airy tone. "I just wanted to see how you were. I haven't seen you much since the night you and Anders had your - disagreement. What was all that about just now anyway, Fenris?" She asked, walking from the doorway towards the table where he stood. "You've got Aveline in quite the huff."

"Well," He began, trailing off. He was not sure how to explain his predicament, or if doing so would even be wise. He had told himself from the beginning of this mad scheme that he would not involve her, even if he desperately wanted her aid. He had known going in that this would be his burden to bear, without her help. The risk was too great. He looked away from her across the room to a blank wall, knowing his hesitation to answer her truthfully was all too clear in his actions. He heard soft footsteps, and realized that she was walking towards him.

"What is that?" She asked, gesturing towards the paper in his hand. He had forgotten he still held the letter. Before he could tighten his grip and shove it back into his pouch, she had pulled it from his hand and opened it.

"That does not concern you in the least, Hawke," He growled, trying in vain to retrieve the parchment. She proved far too quick for him as always, and dodged his snatching hands with ease. She took a few steps backwards while a coy smile wrinkled the corners of her mouth.

"I didn't realize my reading lessons had been so effective," She teased, ducking under a flying claw's newest attempt. "We haven't worked on them in months." Still smiling, she looked once again to the paper she held. Fenris tensed in frustration, fists balled, but ended his effort to reclaim his letter. If she wanted so badly to know his personal business, then let her. What did he care? Curses at her inability to mind her own business flew out under his breath as he snarled to himself, watching her eyes move quickly down the page. She finished reading the short message in moments, and looked up to him.

"Your sister," She said, disbelief mixing with excitement in her voice, "But, how -"

"I followed up on the information Hadriana gave me," Fenris snapped angrily, cutting her off mid sentence. He may as well be honest with her at this point, she knew about Varania now. "She spoke the truth. I have a sister."

"And you found her? She's come here, to Kirkwall?" Hawke asked. "Fenris, that's - that's wonderful!"

"It's far from wonderful!" He spit. Would all his companions prove to be this ignorant? Hawke of all people, the one person he had opened up to at all about his past, should be able to understand the danger this situation presented.

She spooked at his sudden outburst, but quickly turned instead to irritation at his misplaced anger. Glaring at him with contempt, both her hands moved onto her hips, almost as if she dared him to try yelling at her one more time. He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand, continuing in as calm a tone as he could muster at the moment. She did not deserve his temper, she never had.

"Varania is here, yes, but I cannot be sure she has come alone. It's much too perfect an opportunity for an ambush." He confessed.

The agitation in Hawke's features softened with his words. She folded the letter neatly, and handed it back to Fenris, who threw it unceremoniously onto his table before turning back to face her.

"You think Danarius could have followed her here?" Hawke asked gently. "And you don't know if it's safe to go and meet her?"

"Exactly," He answered with a sigh.

"Then I'll come with you," She stated firmly.

"No!" Fenris roared automatically. Panic shot through him. This was precisely what he had been trying to avoid by not telling Hawke in the first place. He had known she would do this, would try to accompany him. "You will _not _come with me!"

"Yes, I will." She said firmly.

"Absolutely not!" Fenris fumed.

Hawke stared up at him, still clam, still kind, but with new determination etched into her features. A small, sad smile crossed her face momentarily.

"Fenris," She said softly, in the same voice that had made him ache for her touch in his dreams not long ago. "for the past three years, you've stood by my side through everything. You've had my back in more tough spots than I'm able to count. I know for a fact that you saved my life on more than one occasion, and I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you properly. You've been here for me all this time, and I want to do the same for you. If this is a trap, I don't want you to face Danarius on your own. I couldn't live with myself if I did. I want to be there in case things go wrong."

She paused for a moment, and Fenris couldn't help but think it seemed she was trying to say something more. She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it quickly, biting at her lip. Finally she began again, but this time with the slightest pink hue splashed across her face.

"I know our past is an awkward one, Fenris. I can understand why you don't want me involved with your personal business. But please, let me help you. I care for you too much to see you face this alone."

Fenris stared at her for a long while, unable to say anything while the tension between them grew ever more palpable. His mind raced while a silent war raged in his head. His gut insisted she be turned away, told to go home, while his heart screamed out for her to be allowed to stay. With his head reeling, he did not notice Hawke reach out. Suddenly, he felt something warm caress his right hand, and saw both of her hands enveloping his own, one covering the swatch of red at his wrist. He looked again into her face, and was overwhelmed by the concern, sincerity, and honest caring he saw in her eyes.

His decision was made in that instant. Damn the consequences, damn the way he would certainly think himself an utter fool tomorrow. He knew his choice meant he was weak, but he could not force himself to push her away, not any longer. Three years of doing so had been three years too many. She wanted to help him, and he would not deny her that, he was far too selfish to be able to.

"You understand what Danarius is capable of?" Fenris forced himself to ask. He would not allow her to follow him without being sure she knew the risks first.

"Of course I do!" She answered, obviously surprised at his change of heart. "I've seen what he's done to you, Fenris, how he's affected you even to this day! It's why I want to be there! He has to pay for what he's done to you!"

"Then I will not turn you away," he answered, unable to believe that the words were coming from his mouth, "Not anymore."

Hawke beamed, and his chest swelled. So she would come with him. Knowing she would be by his side while he faced the uncertainty of meeting Varania was more than he could have ever dreamed to ask for. He did not know whether to be furious at himself for allowing her to come, or delighted that she would be there with him.

Despite the mixed feelings that ran through his head, he promised himself one thing in those brief moments; once this was over with, once either the trap had been sprung or he had reunited with his sister, he would do his best to set things right between himself and Hawke. He had known for years that she deserved at the very least an explanation, and he finally intended to give her one. Whether it would result in a second chance or further disappointment, he could not say. Frankly, he did not care. All that mattered was that Hawke would finally know why he had acted in such a way.

Forcing himself away from the pull of her presence and the delicious feel of her skin against his, he walked to the corner of his chamber where his greatsword leaned, picking it up and placing it on his back.

"If you wish to, come with me, Hawke," He said quietly, turning once more to look back at her, "I can't deny it. I need you there when I meet her."

"Now?" She asked with surprise. Apparently she had not realized he had intended to leave so soon. She quickly composed herself, bringing her head higher and switching over to her typical confident air that would always shine through when they took on a new mission. "Where is she?"

"She said in an earlier letter that she'll have taken a room in the Hanged Man. If we go today, I'm certain she'll be there." Fenris answered, focusing on clumsily tightening the straps on his cuirass as to better hide the new smile he wore behind his fallen hair. Once he could no longer feasibly pretend to be adjusting his armor, he turned his attention back to her. She stood checking over her daggers and leather armor, and seemed to have thankfully missed his awkward fumbling. She looked at him now, blue eyes lit with excitement at the prospect of bringing justice to his former master. An unexpected, overwhelming need to show his appreciation flooded through him. He ran his hand through his hair yet again, searching for something he could say that could convey just how thankful he was she would be with him.

"Hawke," he began pathetically, unknowing of what he would say next, "I-"

"We can talk later tonight, Fenris," She interrupted firmly, though still in the same gentle voice she had used to convince him to accept her aid. Fenris found that he was relieved she had spared him the humiliation of continuing his botched attempt at gratitude. "For now, let's either go find your sister, or teach Danarius what happens when he threatens the Champion of Kirkwall's friend."

She then turned purposefully from the room with a smirk, walking briskly down the stairwell. The sound of muffled footsteps echoed up the steps back into his chamber where the elf still stood rooted. He sighed, his eyes half closed, and shook his head with a small smile. What a woman.

He quickly followed her out of the room, down the stairs, and caught her in the foyer just as she was about to open the front door. He reached out instead, taking hold of the brass handle and pulling it open, holding it for Hawke. She smiled once more at him as they both stepped out onto the white stone streets that made up the Hightown plaza. They picked through the stalls and crowds of the marketplace, making their way silently towards the stairs that would lead them to Lowtown, the Hanged Man, and the uncertainty that awaited them inside.

It took a few short minutes that felt like hours to reach the familiar front of the tavern, it's namesake swaying slightly in the breeze that passed through the winding streets. Grey clouds overhead that threatened rain cast dark shadows around them, making the normally sleazy streets seem even less inviting than usual. Fenris stopped short of the entrance to the Hanged Man, staring straight ahead at his hand as it rested flat against the broken door. His gut had tied itself into knots as he had walked with Hawke, and now that he was here, it felt as if it had finally succeeded in making itself into a noose. He swallowed hard, anticipation and excitement at finally meeting his only remaining family clouded by the nagging fear at the back of his mind that he had allowed himself to be lured here like a hunted animal. He was ready to turn away, to return to his Hightown mansion and forget about the whole thing, when his ear perked at the sound of her voice next to him.

"Fenris," she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He felt her soft gaze on him, though he did not look at her. "I'm right here. You can do this."

She placed her free hand next to his on the door, and pushed it open, pulling him into the sudden noise of the tavern that hit him like a wall. He was amazed at how everything appeared as it always had, from the fire crackling in the filthy hearth, to the scowl on the barman's face, to the protesting of the serving girl as she was accosted by the drunken regulars. He heard Varric's voice over the cacophony, though he could not tell from where. Fenris knew he was most likely spinning some exaggerated tale about one of Hawke's adventures to a crowd of easily fooled patrons. He could not be sure, but he also thought he saw Isabela lounging at her spot on the bar, surrounded as usual by a horde of male, and in addition today female, admirers. It did not take him long to find the one person who stood out among the crowd.

Sitting with her back to the door, alone at one of the rough tables was a young red-haired Elven woman. At the sound of their approach, she turned her light face towards him, bright green eyes he instantly recognized as his own locking onto him.

"It really is you," She said, looking away from him and down at her clasped hands in front of her.

"Varania," Fenris said, unsure whether or not he could believe that she sat before him after all this time. Flashes of memories he had not seen since his night with Hawke ran through his mind. Two small children, a ginger girl and a boy with black hair, ran through bright green grass, laughing and squealing as they chased one another. Nearby, a dark-haired Elven woman with their same eyes laughed at the sight of them as she weeded the flowerbeds that lined the high stone walls. "I – I remember you. We played in our master's courtyard while mother worked. You called me -"

"Leto," She answered as she stood from the table, still keeping her gaze from him. "That's your name."

"What's wrong?" He asked. Something wasn't right. Varania was making far too great an effort not to look at him. He realized that this whole situation must be just as hard for her as it was for him. He stepped forward, intending to try his best to comfort her. "It's alright, Varania. Why are you so -"

"Fenris! Shit!" His focus snapped away instantly from his sister as he whirled around to look at Hawke. Her hands flew to both her daggers, ripping them from their sheaths, eyes fierce but face white with fright as she looked past their group towards the stairs that lead to the tavern's rented rooms. "We have company!"

Fenris followed her line of sight, and his heart sank into the deepest pit of his stomach as fury coursed through his veins. He understood now why the bitch had avoided looking at him. Slowly making his way down the stairs, flanked by several bodyguards, was Danarius, wearing a pompous grin that twisted his withered face into an unsettling sneer.

"Ah, my little Fenris," He purred. The way he said his name made the elf's blood boil. "Predictable as always."

"I'm sorry it came to this, Leto," Varania said as she finally looked at him, with little emotion in her voice to prove her words.

"You!" He spit, rounding on her now, "You led him here!"

"Now, now Fenris. Don't blame your sister," Danarius continued to coo, reaching Varania's side. "She did what any good Imperial citizen should."

"I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius," Fenris growled, "But I won't let you kill me to get them!" Danarius laughed, his cold eyes like ice as they followed the trails of lyrium under his skin.

"How little you know, my pet," he sighed softly.

He watched with mounting fury as the magister pulled his gaze from him and focused now on Hawke, still standing with her blades ready for the instant they were needed. With horror, Fenris recognized the same greedy, hungry look that had fallen on himself for so many terrible nights dance across the magister's face as he looked her up and down. Instinct took over him in a heartbeat. He grabbed Hawke by her arm, pulling her roughly behind him. He placed himself as best he could between her and his former master, never breaking his focus on the man, even with Hawke's confused, silent protesting. As perilous as their current situation was, he knew one thing with absolute certainty; he would die before he let this beast try to touch her.

His deliberate movements did not go unnoticed. The twisted, lazy smile on Danarius' face turned to a wolfish leer as he watched Fenris block Hawke from his view.

"Ah, I see," Danarius said, poison running through his honeyed words, "This is your new master, then? The Champion of Kirkwall? Impressive."

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone! Least of all you, you monster!" Fenris' concentration on the magister was broken at her words. He turned his head just enough to look back at Hawke, gratitude and adoration rising in his chest as he laid eyes on her. A rage like no other he had ever seen was marring her beautiful face. Her teeth were barred like a rabid dog, jaw clenched, and brow set. She had raised a dagger threateningly and pointed it at Danarius, much to the displeasure of his guards. They made to come towards the two of them, swords halfway from their sheaths, when Dararius raised a hand, ordering them to stand down. Amusement now mingled with the dangerous smile still firmly in place on his mouth.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" He mused, a wicked cackle passing over his lips, "It truly is not surprising, the lad is rather _skilled _isn't he?"

Fenris' skin burned with the newly kindled flame of his markings and fury. He saw nothing but white-hot hatred, and was blinded enough by it not to notice the movement of two familiar shapes around the edge of the tavern.

"Shut your mouth, Danarius!" Fenris roared, ripping his sword from his back. The shear wrath that had built inside of him for years, that had been brought on by a lifetime of pain, mistreatment, and abuse, poured out of him like a burst dam in those four words. The magister sighed, unimpressed by Fenris' lack of respect for him.

"The word you're looking for is master," he said firmly, gesturing for his men to move in.

In an instant, the Hanged Man had turned into a blood bath. Guard after guard threw themselves at Fenris, and he was more than happy to introduce them to his blade. A sword flew at his neck, which he ducked under easily, bringing his own into the small of the man's back. He kicked out, sending him sprawling into the path of another who ran at him from the side, both of them falling to the floor in a heap. Two more came for him at the same time, one running the other through as Fenris side-stepped behind him at the last possible second. He sliced at the first man's knees, taking him down with the companion he had skewered. Hawke's daggers shone red as she flew through the men like a deadly ghost. Men seemed to drop for no reason as she flitted from soldier to soldier, using her quick feet to avoid being targeted for long.

It was quickly made apparent to Fenris that he and Hawke were not alone in the fight. The shapes of people moving through the shadows had jumped to action as soon as the men had attacked. Isabela followed Hawke's path through the men, finishing off those who had not fallen instantly at her attacks. Varric yelled praise for Bianca's brutality from the sideline, sending volley after volley of bolts into the frenzied guardsmen. Fenris could not help but smile inwardly as he continued to take out their adversaries. The loyalty their companions displayed by jumping into the fight the way they had was nothing less than honorable.

Between the two of them and the perfectly timed assistance they had received from their friends, Fenris was pleased to see that he and Hawke had quickly gained the upper hand in the fight. He was ecstatic to realize he very well may rid himself of Danarius' threat permanently this very day.

"Fenris!" He heard Varric call out from across the room, panic sounding in his voice. Fenris turned towards him, expecting to see guards overwhelming the stout rouge. Instead, he found nothing but a clear path littered with fallen guards between himself and the dwarf. Confused, he continued to stare at him, until he gestured wildly back towards the stairs. "Not me! Hawke!"

Fenris whirled back to where Danarius had first appeared, and terror shot through him like electricity. Silence, whether real or imagined, crashed down around him like a huge wave. His mind went numb, his sight gone for all but the vision that lay before him. There, back pressed firmly against Danarius' chest while he held her in a deathly grip, was Hawke. One of her own daggers, grasped in the magister's hand, was digging into the soft flesh of her neck, the other cast off across the tavern floor. She held her head high, eying the blade as it pressed deeper into her skin when her throat rose and fell with each breath. Danarius' gaze locked with Fenris' eyes, and the same wolf's grin from earlier found it's home on his mouth.

"No!" Fenris screamed, rushing towards the two of them, sword held out and ready to strike.

"I would think you'd know better than to act so rashly, my pet!" Danarius yelled over the last of the fighting that was quickly ending around them. Fenris forced himself to a standstill, watching in horror as the blade's edge pulled a muted cry from Hawke, cutting into her skin and sending beads of blood cascading to the floor. Those few of his men left standing hobbled over to Danarius' side as Isabela and Varric halted their attacks, looking from one another to the magister, dread covering both their faces.

"There's a good lad," Danarius cooed. He sneered at the elf as he pressed his head into her hair, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Hawke twitched at the sensation, causing the dagger to draw more blood. Fenris' mind reeled at the sight of it. "Now, let me make you an offer, Fenris. I'm sure you'll find it most reasonable."

"You'll not have her, Danarius!" Fenris roared, his markings blazing anew and hand clenching tight around the hilt of his blade. Incessant fury coursed through him at the thought of Hawke enduring what he once had at this monster's hands. "I won't allow it!"

"Oh, my dear boy, I can assure you I have no intention of taking the girl. I have no use for this Ferelden whore, especially since you have so obviously had your fun with her already. Don't deny it, my little wolf, it's there in your eyes when you dare to glance at her. I can just image the tryst the two of you must have had together. Do tell me, I'm very curious, did she moan your name? The one I bestowed upon you?" Danarius gloated, reveling in the rage and discomfort he was bringing to Fenris' face. He looked down at Hawke with a wicked grin as he continued. "Did you think of me, of the nights we shared together, as she whispered it in your ear and called it out in ecstasy?"

"I told you to shut your mouth, you filthy bastard!" Fenris screamed. His eyes stung with the beginnings of tears that he would not give Danarius the satisfaction of seeing. A cruel laugh fell from the magister's mouth as his eyes closed and head tilted backwards.

"Well, well, well. You do remember. That's good. They were by far my favorite part of keeping you around, even if you were a bit too free-spirited," Danarius sighed, shaking his head, "Much too headstrong for my taste, to be truthful. This one, she's not unlike yourself in that aspect, my pet. Is that why you were drawn to each other? Both of you have made this whole process so much more difficult than it had to be by fighting back. If I truly had it my way at this point, I would simply take my lyrium from your corpse and find a more agreeable host for it. But I am not without mercy.

"I offer you a compromise. One I'm sure you will find hard to pass up, given the circumstances," He continued in a lazy drawl. "Agree to return to my service in Tevinter, permanently, as you rightfully should. In return, I spare your life, along with the life of your precious little, Hawke, wasn't it? Ah, what a delightful pet name."

"No!" Hawke roared, yelling out for the first time from Danarius' grip. "Fenris, no, don't do it! Don't go - " She cut herself off with a strangled cry as the blade was dragged partly across her neck, opening the wound wider. Fenris reached out a hand towards her, but stood still. Her eyes meet his, and he saw that she too held back tears that were on the edge of falling. Her face was firm, however, and he could clearly tell that she would rather have her throat slit than see the man who held her hostage win.

Fenris was not that strong. The thought of her dying to continue his misguided attempt at freedom was enough to make him physically ill. Even if he did manage to fend off Denarius, the idea of continuing to live in Kirkwall, or anywhere, for that matter, with the knowledge that she did not, was more than he could bear. He looked from Isabela to Varric for guidance as to what he should do, but was met only with incredulity. He breathed deeply, putting out the fire of lyrium in his flesh and steeling himself to do what needed to be done. He would not allow her to be sacrificed, not for anything. He loosened his hold on the hilt of his sword, and placed it into the holster on his back. With a great effort, he brought his gaze once more to Danarius.

"You swear she will be left unharmed?" Fenris asked pointedly, eyes narrowed as he tried to catch any hint of foul play.

"I swear it, my pet," Danarius answered.

"And the others," Fenris gestured behind himself towards Isabela and Varric. "They will be allowed to leave in peace as well?"

"If that is what you wish," He answered yet again.

"Then I – accept," He said, the sudden reality of defeat rushing in his ears with the cries of protest that came from Hawke.

"Fenris, no!" She screamed, thrashing against her captor despite the further injury it caused. "Don't let him do this to you! You're a free man!"

"Silence, whore!" Danarius spit. In one swift movement, he spun Hawke around to face him, raised his free hand, and slapped her across the face with all his might, knocking her to the floor. "Be grateful my Fenris values your pitiful existence!" He turned, anger quickly silenced, and spoke to his remaining men.

"We're leaving," He ordered. He looked at Fenris, greed once again in his smile. "Now."

The men obeyed their commands, and began moving towards the exit of the tavern, Danarius following in their wake.

"Come, Fenris!" The magister barked, "With luck, we'll be able to board a ship for Tevinter this evening."

Fenris moved to follow him, defeated, but caught Hawke's eye first. She lay on the floor, propping herself up with one arm while she clutched at her throat with her other hand. Blood seeped through her fingers and down onto the leather of her breastplate, staining it crimson. The whole of the right side of her face had begun to turn red and swell. Despite all this, despite all she had just endured, she still looked up at him, silently pleading with him not to leave, to stay, even if it meant her death.

"I'm sorry, Marian," He choked out past tears still fighting to be seen. "I'm so sorry. None of this would have happened if it weren't for me." He could not look at her any longer, he needed to leave. He turned quickly, following the group towards the exit into Lowtown's streets. Hopefully, he thought, Danarius would be merciful and find a way to remove his memories once more when they reached their destination. He didn't think he could live with himself otherwise.

As he trudged towards the doors of the Hanged Man for the last time, his ears perked at the sound of scrabbling feet behind him. He turned, and watched in fear and disbelief as Hawke rushed towards them. Before he could react, do something, anything to make her stop, it had already happened. Abject horror coursed through him as he took in the aftermath splayed before him at his feet, the sound of Varric and Isabela screaming her name ringing in his ears.

Hawke was not at her best, and had been much louder and less graceful in her attack than was normal. The blood loss and heat of the moment had surely lowered her judgment. She had abandoned the wound on her throat, allowing blood to flow freely down her neck, only adding to the terrible sight of her rage. Throwing herself across the room in a few large strides, she had wretched a hidden knife from her belt, wielding it with the fury of a madman. She rushed the magister, blade raised and ready to find the vulnerable nerves and blood vessels of his spine. But it was not to be.

"Sloppy," Danarius said, sighing, "Far too sloppy."

He heard her movements behind him just as Fenris had. Before she could close the last few feet between herself and the mage, he had spun around on his heel, staff loosed from his back and clutched firmly in his hand. With a swift, deadly sweep upwards, he shot a bolt of bright red light through the air. Too close and too weak to dodge, the spell caught Hawke in her left hip, shooting diagonally up her stomach, between her breasts, and over her right shoulder. She stumbled forward, making the last few steps towards the elf and the magister with difficulty. She buckled over her knees while the light disappeared as quickly as it had come. Clutching at herself, she raised her head just enough for her to find Fenris' wide eyes and petrified face.

"F – Fenris," She whispered. With fear the likes of which he had never know, he watched in slow motion as blood burst forth from her slashed armor, pouring down her front like rain on a glass window. He threw his arms out to catch her, but was too late. She fell like a heavy sack, writhing on the floor as blood quickly pooled around her.

"No! Please, no!" Fenris cried, unable to comprehend what was happening. He threw himself to his knees, scrambling to take Hawke's face in one hand while the other clutched at her side, willing it all to be a horrible dream. She looked up at him, blood speckled mouth moving with no sound, as her eyes closed and body went limp. A maelstrom of utter hatred and pure rage mounted in him once more, markings flaring like the fury of an old god. Rounding on the magister, who placed his staff back in its holster with a grim look of satisfaction, Fenris began to shriek.

"DANARIUS! YOU BASTARD! YOU PROMISED SHE WOULD LIVE!"

"That I did, my pet," He answered in cold, calm voice. "Until she attacked me, just as I knew she would. People like her are far too easy to read. The tramp should have known when to leave well enough alone.

"Now come, Fenris," He ordered sternly, "There is nothing left for you here any longer. Obey your master." The magister placed a firm hand roughly on Fenris' shoulder, meaning to pull him up and to the exit.

Overcome with grief, outrage, and a desperate need for swift retribution, Fenris only half knew what was to come next. With the speed of a lightning strike he stood, pulling his hand from Hawke's face and thrusting it deep into the magister's chest. He clenched his hand firmly around his heart, making sure to sink each of his gauntlet's claws into the organ's flesh. This vile, detestable scum would know as much pain as Fenris was capable of giving. He lifted the old man off the ground, and watched with sick pleasure as he cried and thrashed on his arm.

"You are no longer my master," Fenris growled in a deadly whisper. He closed his fist, crushing the life from his tormentor's chest, enjoying the sensation of the veins and muscles that burst in his palm as the heart collapsed. Danarius screamed, his eyes screwed shut in agony, hands clawing desperately at Fenris' arm momentarily before he began to go limp. Fenris threw the weight off his arm, heaving the dead magister's body to the floor in a bloody, mangled heap.

He looked now at the few remaining guards, blood and bits of flesh dripping from his forearm, and he readied himself to finish them off. His aggression was not needed, as the men fought one another to be the first out the tavern's door, running into the streets as fast as they could. He threw his gaze around the whole of the tavern now, trying to pick out Varania among the patrons who stared in petrified silence at the scene that had just unfolded. She was gone. The cowardly bitch must have run from the building during the fight.

"Fenris!" He once again heard Varric's voice call his name from behind him, and turned, ready to strike out at yet another enemy. He saw instead the dwarf kneeling by Hawke, her head pulled up and resting against his legs with one of her hands held tight in his. Isabela stood over them, face ashen, clearly unsure what to do with herself. Varric tore his gaze from the woman in his lap to look up at the elf, utter disbelief in his voice as he spoke. "I think she's still with us!"

Fenris ran the few steps back to where she lay, throwing himself to the floor and pulling her forcefully from Varric's arms into his own. Her head fell limp against the crook of his arm as he jostled her. He looked her up and down, finally able to take in the devastation Dararius' curse had caused her body. The leather and fabric of her clothing hid just how deep the wound was, though Fenris was sure he could see bone exposed where the laceration crossed over her shoulder. Blood still gurgled to her skin's surface, spilling over onto his chest and arms, though he cared not. The tears that had been held back for so long finally cascaded from his eyes at the sight of her, falling onto her pale face below. The idea that anyone could survive an injury like this seemed ludicrous.

Yet while he stared at the wound, he watched in utter shock as he realized her chest rose and fell, the sound of struggled breathing escaping from her throat. She stirred weakly in his arms, eyes opening ever so slightly, her sight falling onto one of the cold metal gauntlets that held her.

"Fenris," She said, barely a whisper. "You're still here."

"She needs Anders. Right now," he heard Isabela order, finally snapping herself out of her stupor. Joining them on the floor, she unwrapped the blue sash she wore around her waist. She tied it tightly as possible around Hawke's chest, trying to stem as much of the bleeding as possible. The fabric soaked through almost instantly. Fenris nodded in agreement with Isabela, never taking his eyes from Hawke's face. He gathered her up as gently as he could, sliding one arm under and around her legs and tightening the other's grasp of her shoulders and torso. His heart ached as he saw her wince at the movement, despite his best efforts. As much as it pained him to know the discomfort it would cause her, he knew that if there were to be any chance of her surviving this, he had to move, and quickly.

"Marian," he said softly. She smiled weakly at his voice, and lifted her eyes to his. "This is going to hurt, but I need to get you to Anders as fast as I possibly can."

She didn't answer, but nodded her understanding, pressing her head against his chest, closing her eyes once more. He stood quickly, making his way to the tavern's exit with Varric jumping ahead to hold the door open. Fenris burst through it as he started to run, the dwarf's encouragement to hurry completely unnecessary.

The dark clouds had opened up during their time indoors, sending great raindrops the size of sovereigns down onto the two of them as he sprinted through puddles. The water washed away some of the blood, leaving it to fall and stain a grim trail onto the dirty cobblestones. Fenris thanked the late summer storm for its timely arrival, as the rain had driven most people off the streets, leaving few obstacles in his path. Hawke bumped and shook in his arms, small cries of pain muffled as she pressed her face into his cuirass.

"Marian, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. Please, stay with me," He begged her, picking up his pace as he rounded a sharp corner. They were at the top of the steps that lead down to Darktown now. "Talk to me, say something. Say anything."

"You did it again," She muttered through clenched teeth, turning her head to look up at him.

"Did what?" He replied, ecstatic to see she held enough consciousness to respond to him at all.

"You called me Marian," She said weakly, "That's the third time. Why?"

"It's your name, isn't it?" He asked, continuing to question her. He wanted to keep her awake and focused on something other than her agony. "Why shouldn't I use it?"

"You always call me 'Hawke', like the others. You haven't called me Marian since - " She said, trailing off. Fenris knew exactly where her thoughts had gone, and he pulled her closer to himself, hoping she understood his meaning. She spoke again, voice quieter than ever. "I've missed the way you say it."

"Then I will make a bargain with you," He said, smiling slightly at her despite himself, "Pull through this for me, and I promise I will call you Marian as often as you wish. Is that agreeable?"

"I'd like that," She murmured, head beginning to nod off to one side in his arms, "I'd like that a lot, Fenris -"

"Marian!" He yelled. She was blacking out. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, spurring his feet to move faster still. "Stay awake, Marian! Venhedis!"

He looked up from her for the first time since they left the Hanged Man, and was relieved to find himself mere yards from the front of Anders' clinic. His feet had led him there faithfully out of memory. In seconds he was at the door, kicking it in without a second though and rushing into the dimly lit room.

Anders, who had been sitting with his back to the entrance bent over a mound of loose papers, ink and quill in hand, jumped to his feet, pulling his staff free. He turned to face them, ready to attack, when he realized who had barged in on him.

"Andraste's knickers, Fenris, I thought you were a group of templars for sure! I nearly blasted you back out the door! What do you want, any- Maker, what happened?!" He had finally taken in the full sight of them. The two of them were both soaked to the bone, Hawke laying unconscious in Fenris' arms, her blood still splattered liberally across the both of them despite the rain. Anders shook himself, rushing over to one of his tables.

"Nevermind, I'll get an answer later! Just get her over here, now!" He threw the clutter on top of the table across the room with a sweep of his arm, his staff forgotten as it fell to the floor. Fenris ran to him, lifting Hawke onto the table as gently as he could, her head lolling to the side as he pulled his arms away from her.

"I need to see what I'm dealing with, help me get this off her," Anders gestured in a panic to Hawke's tattered armor and Isabela's sash as he began fumbling with the straps and knots that held it all in place. Fenris tore at the fastenings as well, and soon the destroyed remains of Hawke's breastplate, tunic, and Isabela's scarf were discarded on the ground with Anders' staff. As soon as they had finished, Fenris found her hand, taking hold of it once more.

"By the Maker," Anders whispered, his face draining of all color at the full sight of her, "What happened to you, Hawke?"

With the coverings of her armor and underclothes gone, the full extent of the spell's damage was made clear. It looked as though Hawke had been hit in the chest with a gigantic war ax. Her flesh lay ripped open and mutilated for the entire length of her upper body. Bone could be seen not only at her shoulder, but also across her ribcage, pearly white standing out against the raw muscle and tendons. Several of them looked as if they had been snapped, along with her collarbone. The wound on her neck stretched several inches, though Fenris was relieved to see it did not delve nearly as deep as her other injury. The blood there had started to thicken and congeal, leaving a texture like wet tar across her throat.

"This is blood magic's work," Anders surmised. He looked up from Hawke to Fenris, glaring at him from across the table. "Your old master's work, I presume?"

"Does that matter right now?!" Fenris barked, "She's dying, you fool!"

Anders apparently agreed, as he turned immediately back to Hawke. He raised his hands, which slowly took on an otherworldly blue glow. He closed his eyes in concentration, placed his hands where the gash began at her hip, and started moving slowly up her stomach. The light his magic gave off unsettled Fenris; it made Hawke look like a corpse under its glow. As his hands passed over the wound, her flesh began to heal, knitting itself back together at his touch. When he reached her chest and shoulder he paused, hovering over the broken bones long enough to provide them the extra time they needed to mend. The same was done for the gash in her throat.

In a matter of a few minutes that lasted a lifetime, Fenris' fears were lessened; Hawke's body, though scared and bloodstained, was whole once more. He even thought he saw her chest move with the intake of a small breath. He looked to the mage, fully intending to thank him profusely for his aid, despite their differences, when he registered the sorrowful look still plaguing Anders' face.

"What is it?" Fenris demanded. "Something is wrong still. Tell me now."

"Her body has healed," Anders answered. He raised a grime covered hand to his head and scratched, as if desperately trying to think of something. "but that wound- Fenris, she's lost an impossible amount of blood. I've never seen someone lose so much and manage to pull through."

"No!" Fenris seethed, looking from Anders to Hawke's face, still pale as she was before her healing. He would not let her go, not after all they had been through that day. They had dealt with too much to stumble now. He looked back to the mage, determined to make him admit that there was something more he could do, even if he had to thrash it out of him.

"There's something else you can do!" He growled, clenching tighter to Hawke's hand, "You're not doing everything you can! Spit it out! What aren't you telling me?!"

"There's only one method I know of that we can use to help her now," He said, clearly uncomfortable with where the topic was going. "But I promise you, you won't like what it involves."

"Do it!" Fenris hollered, "Do whatever it is now! I don't care what it is!"

"Fenris, it's blood magic!" Anders exclaimed. The mage paused, breathing heavily for a moment, the silence between them ringing loudly in Fenris' ear. "She needs more blood. I can give it to her, but its not like I can produce it from thin air. The only way to do it is to take it from someone else by using blood magic. I've never tried it before, but I think I could pull it off. The point I'm trying to make is, that in order for me to save Hawke, someone else is going to have to give her an awful lot of their blood, and risk dying themselves. And it would need to happen fast, within the next ten minutes, or there's no way even that could help her."

Fenris did not have to think for more than a split second.

"Take mine," He said firmly, "Use my blood. Do it now."

"Fenris," Anders gaped in disbelief, "Do you realize what you're agreeing to? I'm not even positive that this will work, you could die for nothing!"

"Stop stalling!" Fenris barked, "I'm no fool, mage, I understand the risk! The longer you put this off, the less likely it is to work! Now do it!"

"If – if you're sure," Anders stammered. He hurried off to his desk, collecting what he needed to perform the spell.

While the mage was distracted for a few moments, Fenris lowered his head even with Hawke's. He took his time breathing in her scent of camomile and lavender, watching how her hair fluttered as he exhaled, feeling the brush of her skin against his, knowing it could be the last chance he had to appreciate the simple beauty of it all. His heart pounded as he saw her move slightly, giving him hope that this desperate attempt might actually work. He kissed her cheek lightly, and began to whisper into her ear.

"Marian," he breathed, noticing but not caring as fresh tears fell from his eyes, "I love you. I always have. I hope you can forgive me one day for all I have done." He straightened up as he heard Anders approach, the desk's chair in one arm, his staff and a small knife in the other. Fenris wiped furiously at the tears on his face, his stubborn pride admonishing him for such weakness in front of the mage despite the grave circumstance.

"Sit here," Anders said, avoiding eye contact as he positioned the chair next to the table where Hawke lay. Fenris did as instructed, allowing Anders to remove his gauntlet, stretch his arm out, and rest it palm up on the same table. He watched as the mage pressed the blade gently against Hawke's wrist, cutting just deep enough to draw the slightest amount of blood. Once done, he moved to do the same to Fenris', but paused.

"Fenris," The mage stammered, obviously trying to think of something to say. He looked up, locking eyes with the other man. "I know we aren't friends. Maker knows the only reason we ever tolerated each other in the least is because of Hawke. But I just wanted to tell you, before we start, I truly respect you for doing this for her. I've never met a braver man, and I - I hope this ends as best it can."

Fenris nodded, his jaw set and fist clenched tight.

"Take care of her, Anders." He answered simply. He looked away from the mage, and found Hawke's face. If this truly were to be his end, he wanted her to be the last thing he saw.

The blade bite into his flesh, and he felt the warm trickle of his own blood run down his wrist onto the table. Anders spoke a low, soft chant in words Fenris couldn't hear properly as he began to feel the blood leave his arm at an unnatural speed. Far too quickly his head became light and his eyelids heavy. A terrible temptation to sleep suddenly came over him, causing him to slump back into his chair, head leaning to one side, while he fought to keep his concentration on Hawke. Soon his breath slowed, mind blanked, and body relaxed. A vision of Marian, whole, unharmed, and as happy as she had been during their one night together, danced through his head. He smiled to himself, and finally gave in. His eyes closed while he plunged into darkness, with the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears.

**To be concluded! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **First, a thank you for those who have taken the time to review what I've done so far. I'm extremely grateful for your feedback and thoughts! Now, I know I said in my last chapter that this would be the conclusion. I'm a bold faced liar. The truth is, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this chapter was needed. I hope it's to your liking! As always, please be sure to let me know what you think with a review! Oh, and since I don't believe I've said it yet, Bioware owns all, but they're more than welcome to give me Fenris for my birthday next week. Or Zevran. Or both.

Guilty Pleasure - Chapter 4

"_You truly think this wise, Anders?_" The voice rang out in his head, cold and harsh as a winter storm's gale, "_The repercussions of being discovered using blood magic -_"

"I'm fully aware what will happen if I'm caught, thank you," Anders answered back silently. He was crossing the room to collect his things, hastily trying to think of something he could use to keep the elf steady when he would inevitably black out. "I'm already a wanted apostate with a history of slaughtering templars. Blood magic will just be one more justification for them to try to make me tranquil. Of course, they would have to actually catch me first."

"_Baffling. Simply baffling. Was it not you who insisted to that Merrill girl the use of such a profane skill was reprehensible? A crutch used only by the irreversibly desperate and weak?_" The voice continued.

"It is, yes," Anders said with a harsh internal laugh despite himself, "and at this point, our situation is that hopeless."

The desk chair would have to do. He didn't have enough time to clear off and drag one of the heavy exam tables across the room, and a cot would be too low for him to work with properly. Now if he could just find that damn knife!

"_You have never used blood magic before. How is it that you even know of this ritual's existence?_" The voice asked, suspicion permeating its words.

"I read about it in a tome a long time ago, while I was in the Ferelden Circle," He replied bluntly, more concerned about the daunting task that lay before him than answering petty questions, "You'd be surprised what books are just left lying around the First Enchanter's office, considering they'd been taken off the shelves in the library for a reason. Irving never did have the common sense to lock anything up."

"_You willingly studied the use of blood magic?_" The voice accused, hints of anger poorly hidden in its forced calm.

"I didn't know it was blood magic at the time!"Anders protested. He inadvertently knocked his latest copy of the manifesto to the ground in his rush to find the knife, sending ink to splatter and sink into the soft parchment as he tore through the desk, his quill fluttering gently to the floor. "I was a nosy kid and thought, 'Oh, something they obviously don't want me to see, that must mean its interesting!' When I figured out what the book was I put it back and never touched it again. I only bothered to remember this spell because I thought it was the only one that could be justified in extreme circumstances, and it's a good thing I did!"

"_You are a fool. This preposterous idea goes against everything you have worked to disprove. If you lower yourself like this, you only give Meredith more reason to insist all mages will fall to blood magic's temptation when cornered. And for what? To save the life of one woman, who isn't even a mage. One woman, who obviously did not have the common sense to think her actions through._"

"Stop it! Don't talk about Hawke like that!" Anders yelled mutely, eyes screwing up momentarily as if he could silence the voice by sheer force of will alone. Like he hadn't tried that before. "She's our leader! An ally! My friend, for Maker's sake! What kind of monster would I be if I allowed her to die when there was something that I could do to save her?"

Finally! The blighted blade had been hidden in a drawer filled with spare quills and ink. Why he had thought it a good idea to keep the damn thing there he couldn't fathom at the moment.

"_You desire her._"

Anders nearly dropped the knife back into the clutter he had just retrieved it from, color and heat quickly rising from his neck to his hairline. He sputtered and rambled fruitlessly, unable to find the words to disprove the claim.

"_Do not try to deny it, mage,_" the voice continued,"_You have longed for her since the day you first laid eyes on her. How many nights have you lain awake, fantasizing about what she looked like under armor and cloth? You relished the sight of her on your table once she was whole again, even scared and half dead as she is. You are allowing lust to cloud your better judgment._"

"Shut up! That's not true!" Anders screamed soundlessly, pounding his forehead with a tight fist. His mind had been sent reeling at the though, out of both disgust and guilt. His stomach churned and clenched violently, sending waves of ill feeling throughout his body. He was lying to himself. As much as he would have liked to deny the disturbing accusations, any attempt to do so would simply be an outrageous farce. Despite his best efforts to control himself and how horrible he felt about it, there had been part of him, a weak, purely primal male part of him, that had reveled in her exposure.

He took several quick, deep breaths, trying to calm himself and focus once more on the crisis at hand. There hadn't been anything that he could do to avoid it. Andraste's pants, he was a healer and Hawke had needed him! He had been perfectly professional! Maker knew that if the damned elf had even suspected otherwise, he would have found a fist in his chest before he could touch her. What was he supposed to do, pass his hands over her blindly and hope he had hit at least some of the arteries and bones that needed mending? For what, the sake of modesty? It wasn't his fault she was attractive and needed to be half-naked, damn it!

Anders shook himself hard. Now wasn't the time for self loathing or excuses. Hawke was slipping away from them more and more with every passing second. He had wasted enough time arguing with voices in his head. Straightening up, new-found resolve coursing through him along with the adrenaline of the past twenty minutes, he gathered up the chair and blade and made his way across the room, stooping to pick up his staff along the way.

"_You still intend to go through with this then?_" The voice asked, indignation thick in its words. "_You will very likely murder this elf, you realize?_"

"Yes, I know it and he knows it. Hawke is my friend, and Fenris - Well, I can't make heads or tails of what she is to him, but I'm not going to argue the point. He's willing to risk it, and I won't let her die on us. Not when there's something I can do," He answered pointedly.

"_I hope you do not come to regret this, mage._"

"So do I, Justice."

Anders focused now on the elf, intending to continue out loud to him with instructions. Fenris had looked up from Hawke at the sound of his approach, her hand still held tightly in his own. Anders faltered in his resolution momentarily. For the briefest second he could have sworn he'd seen the remnants of tears in the elf's eyes before they returned to their usual steely glint. He looked away, not wanting to make the process more difficult than it had to be by having some great emotional revelation between the two of them.

"Sit here," He muttered, placing the chair close to the table where Hawke lay and leaning his staff near her head. The elf quickly complied. Anders reached hesitantly for the buckles that held the wickedly clawed gauntlet on his right hand in place, unfastening them quickly and placing it at Hawke's feet. He couldn't help but be immensely surprised Fenris did not recoil at his touch as he pulled his arm straight and set it flat on the table top.

Knowing they couldn't afford to lose any more of their precious little time, Anders took up the knife. He placed it firmly against Hawke's wrist, and pressed deep into her skin, making sure to nick the main artery. The sight of the meager amount of red that stained the blade's edge and trickled from her wrist was enough to drain all the color from his face. He hadn't realized just how little blood was left in her. Maker, if she was going to live, she would need more blood from Fenris than would ever be feasible for him to give! There was no way the elf could make it through this alive!

He swallowed hard, barely able to keep his hands steady as he took hold of the other man's wrist. As much as he had despised him, hated him even, for his bigoted opinions on mages and the way he'd hurt and endangered Hawke, Anders took no pleasure knowing he would be the one to end Fenris' life. The fact that he was doing this willingly to save Hawke only made it harder to continue loathing him completely. He sighed heavily. Something needed to be said. He couldn't just let him die without any show of gratitude for his sacrifice.

"Fenris," he stammered, unsure exactly where he would be going with his words. The elf looked up, eyes shining with unyielding determination. The fact that there was no sign of worry or hesitation in his face sent an involuntary shiver down Anders' spine. He had to hand it to him, the elf was fearless. He took another deep breath, and continued. "I know we aren't friends. Maker knows the only reason we ever tolerated each other in the least is because of Hawke. But I just wanted to tell you, before we start, I truly respect you for doing this for her. I've never met a braver man, and I - I hope this ends as best it can."

Which wasn't likely.

The elf simply nodded, his sight still firmly trained on the other man.

"Take care of her, Anders," was all he said before letting his eyes fall once again on Hawke's face.

Anders couldn't help but gape at the elf, paralyzed with his mouth half-open in momentary shock. Fenris had never addressed him by his real name before. He was always either abomination, mage, or the healer, but even that title was used rarely. The surprising show of respect, as unintended as it probably was, only made him cringe more at the idea of what he was about to do.

Anders shook himself yet again. He needed to move before he could second guess himself and condemn Hawke to death by his inaction. Gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow, he placed the knife against Fenris' wrist, and pulled it across his skin. Blood bubbled to the surface immediately like water from a spring, flowing much more freely than it had from Hawke's empty vein. Dropping the blade to the table, Anders rushed to pick up his staff, wanting to waste as little of the elf's blood as possible.

"Quod vita salvus per vitam datum. Sit sanguis fluxio libere," He began chanting in a soft, low murmur, the words repeated again and again like a prayer. He watched with mixed exhilaration and horror as Fenris' blood began to rise into the air from his wrist, writhing and coiling like a charmed snake for its master. He guided the blood carefully through the short distance between the two wounded wrists with his staff, and sent a silent thanks to Andraste when the stream successfully connected and rushed into Hawke's body.

Anders kept a careful eye on Fenris, and was amazed to see how long the elf was able to hold himself steady. It seemed that his stubbornness was proving to be an advantage. It wasn't until he had been working for some time that the mage started to notice the loss of blood affecting the elf. Slowly, Fenris' head and eyes started to droop, and his posture grew less and less rigid as he relaxed against the back of his chair. Seconds later he lay completely limp, eyes gradually becoming dim as his head lolled to one side.

Anders' heart started hammering in his chest, knowing it wouldn't be long before the elf passed the point of no return. He looked frantically back to Hawke, hoping for a sign that he would be able to stop. With a swell of happiness, he saw that color was rising in her ashen skin, and her shallow breathing was becoming deeper and much easier. It had worked! She would be weak, and would need several days worth of rest for her body to replenish its own supply, but Fenris' blood had been enough to bring her back from the edge.

"Satis!" Anders yelled. At the sound of his command, the stream of blood left floating in the air broke, shooting quickly back into Fenris' body. The wounds on both Hawke's and Fenris' wrists healed instantly on their own, leaving nothing but a thin white scar over were the blade had bitten into their flesh. He quickly placed his index and middle finger to Fenris' jugular, and was nothing short of amazed to feel a weak pulse vibrate under his pressure. It was far from the robust beat it should be, but it was there, and much more than Anders ever though would be possible after losing so much blood. The healer lowered his head, positioning his ear a few inches from the elf's slack mouth. He heard and felt steady, even breaths crest Fenris' lips, fluttering the loose strands of hair at his temple. Anders stood up, looked over the man in utter bewilderment, and began laughing uncontrollably. The bastard elf was more than just stubborn, he flat-out refused to die!

Smiling with relief that the ordeal just might turn out better than he expected, Anders turned to check Hawke before he started to move them to cots for the night. As soon as her wrist had healed, she had begun to stir, her legs shifting and eyes twitching. She shivered, wet strands of her short ebony hair sticking haphazardly to her face, while the rest of her was still damp from the rain Fenris had run through to get to the clinic. Anders hurriedly went to one of the cots, ripped up the thickest blanket he could find, and brought it back to cover her. She needed to get warm, and deserved at least a little privacy now that there was no immediate danger. The edges of the blanket were tucked under her body as best he could, pinning her arms to her sides. He moved to the end of the table, intending to wrap the loose ends of the covering around her feet. Fenris' discarded gauntlet lay tangled in it, the pointed fingers catching on the soft wool as Anders struggled to dislodge it before continuing. Once finished with Hawke he turned back to Fenris, gauntlet in hand, ready to get him situated on a bed to start recovering.

It was then that the healer was hit with an undeniable sense that something wasn't quite right, though what he couldn't quite place. Knowing from experience that his gut never lied when it came to his patients, he looked over the elf with a critical eye, trying to pin point what had made him pause. He stepped forward, knelt, and held his ear again to the elf's mouth, listening. Anders paled as his grip involuntarily tightened around the cold steel in his hand, realizing with horror what it was that had set him on edge. It seemed an iron will to survive could only take a man so far, as Fenris' breathing, which had been miraculously strong until moments ago, had begun to falter. The air caught in his chest and came out in short, feeble gasps as his tan skin rapidly began to lose its color. Then silence.

"Shit!" Anders cursed loudly, the gauntlet falling from his grip as he fumbled to find a heartbeat in the elf's throat, coming away empty-handed. He tried Fenris' wrist, and was again met with the same stillness. Desperate, he threw his fingers to his neck once more, though his effort was futile. Nothing. The elf had no pulse.

His hands fell limply from the other man's throat, falling on his own thighs as he hung his head, eyes shut tight against the new, harsh reality. Fenris had been lost. The man was dying in front of him, and the fact that there was nothing he could do to prevent it made Anders feel like a helpless child. He'd known this would be the inevitable end of the night, but Fenris' initial refusal to submit to the Fade had given him false hope. How in the world was he going to explain this to Hawke when she woke?

Hawke! She was still alive! Fenris may be a lost cause, but he could still make sure he did everything in his power to see that the elf's sacrifice was not made in vain. He needed to get a hold of himself, there was still work to be done. With a single long, slow breath, Anders forced his eyes open.

Something red he hadn't noticed before jumped out at him from the ground where he stared. Blinking, he saw that it was the gauntlet he had dropped moments ago, a red swatch of fabric tied around its wrist. Anders picked it up gingerly, running his calloused thumb over the soft material. It was clear the rag had been through a lot tied to Fenris' arm. Blood from today's catastrophe soaked it, making the cloth almost damp to the touch. Upon inspection, he saw that it was extremely worn, the edges fraying with the beginnings of several tears. If he were to describe it, he would say it seemed the fabric had been in place through every single scrap and misadventure Fenris had gotten himself into over the past three years, at least.

A sudden thought dawned in Anders' face. Three years. Hadn't that been when Hawke had started to act differently around Fenris? Wasn't that around the time that they had - He shot his head up, taking a quick look back over his shoulder at the woman on the table, still but for the occasional twitch of her mouth or eyes, before turning to the pallid face of the man in front of him.

"You fool," Anders said, realizing that his assumption had to be correct, it was the only logical explanation. His voice, which had started at a whisper, grew quickly in volume and intensity as he carried on. "You obtuse, stubborn, bitter fool! She's been depressed over you for ages, all because you've been too damn pig-headed to admit you loved her the whole blighted time since! That's why you were so willing to let me use blood magic to save her, isn't it?! And now look at you! Dead!"

Anders fumed, rising to his feet with fierce determination as he threw the gauntlet into the Fenris' lap. A sudden reckless, admittedly nonsensical, plan was thrown into action abruptly. Taking up his staff and the discarded blade, the mage stood over the elf, unshakable purpose the likes of which he never thought he could possess without the aid of Justice pushing him forward.

"Not again! You're not breaking Hawke's heart again! I'd sooner turn myself in to the templars than allow it!" He roared, yanking the elf's arm up and slicing his wrist roughly with the knife once more. Dropping Fenris' hand, Anders in turn placed the blade against his own flesh, preparing himself for its sting.

"_Anders!_" The voice rang out stronger than ever, filling his head with nothing but its urgent cry, "_This is madness! You will surely -_"

"I know what I'm doing!" Anders roared in response, eyes flashing. "I'm not letting her lose him! Now kindly sod off and let me focus!"

Without another moment's hesitation, he pulled the knife across his wrist, clenching his jaw at the rush of pain and adrenaline that shot through him. The blood flowed instantly, staining the cuff of his robes crimson and pooling slightly in his cupped palm. Bracing himself as best he could, he began to chant, the words coming with venom as he rushed against time he was not sure he had.

Not long after starting, Anders' legs grew weary and his head began to feel light, while more and more of his weight was pressed against his staff to keep himself upright. He knew it would only get worse from here, but continued on, disregarding his body's warning signs. If there were to be any point in this ludicrous course of action, he needed to make sure the elf received enough blood to have a chance at coming back.

Seconds seemed to stretch for hours, the mage feeling his strength waning constantly. His eyesight began to blur and it was all he could do to focus on his speech enough to continue the necessary incantation. He needed to stop, he couldn't risk losing consciousness if either of them were going to make it. A few more drops, that would be all he could spare.

"Satis!" He called out weakly, ending the spell as a scorching heat flashed and cooled on his wrist in the span of a heartbeat. Anders barely had time to notice the new scar on his skin before he fell to his hands and knees in front of Fenris, utter exhaustion claiming him temporarily. He paused for as little time as possible, taking a few steadying deep breaths. They were nowhere near out of the woods just yet. Pulling himself up with every ounce of strength he could muster, gripping tightly to the elf's breastplate for support, Anders scrabbled to press his fingers to the vein in his throat.

Still nothing.

With a sneering growl that would challenge Fenris at his best, the mage pulled his hand back from the elf's neck. An otherworldly glow crackled and sparked like fire over his skin, eyes glowing with the power of the Fade and pure fervor. With the last of his mana, Anders summoned electricity to dance over his hand, swelling and growing into a bright orb. He thrust the spell at Fenris' heart, sending brilliant flashes of light into the farthest corners of the dark clinic. The force of the shock hit him square in the chest, tearing the elf from his grip and sending him flying backwards to bash his head on the leg of the table behind him before he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The clinic fell into an eerie calm in the blink of an eye. Anders lay unmoving for a time in the stillness, exactly how long he could not be sure. White lights were popping up in his vision from the strike on the head. Out of the corner of his half lidded eyes, he watched the bluish glow fade and sink back underneath his skin. Much sooner than his body would have liked, he stirred, lifting his head a few inches off the ground with a pained groan. Pain was good, he reminded himself, it meant his idiotic heroics hadn't gotten him killed yet.

Pushing himself off the floor, he propped himself up on same table leg he had flown against, wincing as he settled. He looked at the man slumped in the chair across from him, and saw that he remained inert. Forcing himself to move, Anders yet again closed the small space between themselves and held a shaking hand to the vein in Fenris' neck, fully expecting it to be as still as before.

With complete and utter disbelief, he felt a weak movement under his fingers. He held his hand in place, pressing harder, convinced it had been his mind playing tricks on him. But there it was again, and again. His heart was beating, the damned elf's heart was beating! It was then Anders realized with a thrill that not only was Fenris' heart beating, but his chest was moving, quite steadily in fact, with the intake of easy breaths. Incredulity, shock, and a well deserved feeling of pride mounted and swept through him while he threw his head back, cackling like a crazed man at their ridiculously good fortune.

"Well what do you know, Fenris!" Anders hollered into the unconscious, but very much alive, man's face, howling with laughter. He took hold of the elf's shoulders and shook him slightly, unable to hold back the sense of triumph that had overcome him. "The _abomination_ just saved your miserable hide! Oh, this is too good! I can't wait to rub this in your face once you wake up, you narrow-minded bastard!"

He fell back on his heels, newly found sore ribs now added to his growing list of complaints, though he couldn't find it in himself to care. He wiped clumsily at tears that had sprung from his eyes, a broad smile firmly in place.

"I swear, elf, if you and Hawke end up together after all this hell you just dragged me through," He chortled, sitting down against the table and leaning his head back, "and you _ever _even _think_ about leaving her again, I'll be sure to break your nose this time when I punch you. Right after I steal her out from under your feet, of course."

Only moments later, Anders heard what sounded like a stampede of cattle burst through the clinic's door. He looked up from his spot on the floor where he rested, a smile still turning the corners of his mouth. Before him stood the remaining members of their rag-tag band, panting and soaked through to the bone from the storm that still pounded the streets outside. A ghost white Aveline was hunched over herself, her hands firmly gripping her knees. Isabela was flopped over the top of her, using the guard captain's shoulders as a leaning post while she swept sopped hair out of her concerned eyes. Merrill was leaning against her staff, sobbing despite herself with fresh tears running down her already drenched face. Varric seemed to be about to have a heart attack by the way he clutched and clawed at his heaving chest, looking as terrified as though he'd just been told Bianca had been mistaken for firewood.

"First Fenris, and now all of you. Does no one in this blasted city know how to knock on a door?" Anders quipped, laughing inwardly at the way their shocked faces collectively found him sprawled on the ground.

"Blondie!" Varric yelled, in a more urgent tone than Anders had ever heard the dwarf use. His eyes flitted constantly back and forth between Hawke on the table, Fenris in the chair, and the mage at his feet. "What's the situation? Is Hawke alright? And by the stone, what did you do to Broody?! Why the hell is he passed out?!"

"They're both fine, Varric. It's all a _very_ long story," Anders answered, reaching his hands out. Varric and Aveline, who had finally been able to catch her breath after running in a full suit of armor, probably all the way from the barracks, both took hold of the mage, helping him to stand up. He leaned back against Hawke's table, his legs too weak to hold him steady, until a teary-eyed Merrill rushed over with another chair for him. "I'd be happy to tell it to you over a pint sometime. It'll be a good one for that book you're writing. How'd you all find out what happened so quickly, anyway? I take it this wasn't a convenient social call."

"Isabela and I saw everything play out," Varric said with relief, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the pirate. She was currently preoccupied comforting a still weeping Merrill, stress all too plain in her features as she patted the elf gently on the back. "One thing's for sure, Broody wasn't lying about how determined that magister was to 'reclaim what was rightfully his'. The Hanged Man is in worse shape than I've ever seen it, Isabela's brawls included. I don't think they'll ever get some of the stains his lackeys left out of the floor boards. I'll fill in the details over that pint you offered." The dwarf said, heaving a deep sigh. He stayed quite for a long moment, looking over both Hawke and Fenris with a worrying expression that would better suit an old woman.

"You're sure they're alright, Anders?" He finally asked tentatively.

"A little worse for ware, but they should both be able to pull through at this point. For now the best thing for them is a comfortable bed and rest," He explained, standing shakily to his feet. He intended to try to help get Hawke and Fenris onto cots, but it was quickly made apparent he would do no such thing. With a painful grunt, he fell back against the table, wincing at his injuries. He was certain now that a few of his ribs had been broken by the force of the lightning he had summoned, and others were probably bruised. His head was throbbing brutally, and he wouldn't doubt it if he turned out to have a mild concussion. It didn't help his condition that the amount of blood he had lost left him feeling extremely tired and worn down. He bowed and shook his head with his eyes half closed, though he smiled through the discomfort.

"I have to say," He mused out loud to himself as he was guided back down into the chair by several firm but gentle hands, "if dealing with this nightmare doesn't earn me at least a little respect from Fenris, I don't know what in all of Thedas will."

**To be concluded, this time for sure!**


	5. Chapter 5 Part 1

**Author's note: **Phew! Talk about a literary work out! I know I've been M.I.A. since the end of September, but this chapter was a doozy, around 18,000 words. It's split into two chapter submissions because my poor laptop can't handle the shear amount of insanity. I'd like to thank all the lovely readers who took the time to follow, favorite and review, every notification I get makes my day and encourages me to keep going with this craziness. I hope the ending lives up to your expectations, and as always, **please tell me what you think with a review!**

And now, without further ado, part one of the conclusion to Guilty Pleasure!

Guilty Pleasure - Chapter 5 Part 1

The first lucid thought that broke through the thick fog ensnaring Fenris' mind was surprised bemusement at the fact he was able to think at all. By all rights he knew he was, or at least should be, dead. The mage had made it clear, with stuttered words and pained hesitation in his features, that the elf had little to no chance of living through their desperate attempt to save Hawke. She had needed far too much of his blood for both of them surviving to be possible. Yet if Anders had been correct, and he had died in the Darktown clinic, Fenris had to admit that death was far from what he had anticipated. Whenever he had taken the time to imagine what his demise would hold for him (which had admittedly been little, it was a morbid topic that he did not enjoy dwelling on) Fenris had always though it would be rather like falling into a deep sleep. A cold, dreamless sleep that he had no hope of ever awakening from, but sleep nonetheless. However, what he was experiencing was far from that.

He supposed it could be possible for a person's end to feel like this, though the concept of death being something so pleasant was rather strange. Everything around him radiated a luxurious warmth that gently tempted him to fall back into unconsciousness. Whatever bed he was lying on was more comfortable than any he had ever known. His whole body felt as though it had been pressed into a soft cloud that had taken on his shape perfectly. He could hear the quiet crackling of a small fire to his right, and found he could smell wood smoke. He stirred, slowly continuing to wake up, his arms and legs heavy at his sides, and realized that he was fully clothed under his covers. A light tunic and soft linen pants, he surmised, judging by the way the fabric felt against his skin. He attempted to open his eyes, but found his lids to be impossibly heavy, held in place by an invisible iron bar.

Moments later a door creaked open and shut while soft footsteps and two voices moved into the room. One the deep rumble of a man who seemed utterly exhausted, the other a soft murmuring woman whose tone was thick with concern, though for who or what Fenris could not be sure. He listened intently, hoping to overhear some of what they were saying to one another, but to no avail. They spoke in hushed whispers far too low for him to understand. His visitors crossed the room together and came to a stop once they reached his side, continuing on in their conversation as if they were paying their respects at someone's death-bed. Fenris suppressed a grim laugh at the idea, thinking to himself that it might not be far from the truth.

The elf tried again to decipher the pair's words now that they were closer, but made no progress. Their voices, particularly the woman's, remained much too quiet to comprehend, leaving him to catch only small portions of what the man was saying.

"...still can't believe it...know you're worried...should rest..."

They continued speaking to each other in this manner for several minutes, their discourse little more than white noise in his ears, until the man heaved a deep sigh. When he next spoke, he had raised his volume just enough for Fenris to catch almost all of what he said.

"...wake up on his own soon. All we can do now is wait. I'll be back to check in tomorrow morning. Please, try to get some sleep, for the both of us, alright?"

The woman responded in the same mute tone, though her answer to the man's request seemed to satisfy him. With a marginally cheerier demeanor, he bid the woman goodnight before turning to leave, the click of the door when it closed the only indication Fenris received that he had successfully exited the room.

After the man left, a weight settled beside him on his right, causing a slight dip the mattress. The woman shifted and moved carefully, as if she were taking extra precautions not to disturb him. She leaned forward to reach past him, causing the sleeve of her robe to bump into and fill his nose with a familiar, pleasing scent he could not place before continuing higher to muss his hair and knock it over his eyes. A dull thunk came as something she held was placed on a surface near the elf's head. When she pulled her arm back, Fenris felt her soft hand run tentatively along his forehead, brushing away the hair she had displaced from his eyes while she moved it down to pet and rest on the side of his face.

Fenris froze, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected contact. He knew his reaction to such a situation should have been to shirk, to pull himself away from the hand, especially since it belonged to someone whose identity and motives were of yet still unknown. He chastised himself, knowing with guilt that he was a fool for not following his instincts. He should have been wary, protected himself, should have wrenched the hand from his face with a fierce growl and demanded an explanation as to why they dared approach him like this.

But the elf found he would sooner willingly return to Tevinter than do anything of the sort. There was something about this woman's hand that exuded a tenderness so genuine, so heartbreaking, that Fenris, who relaxed almost involuntarily with her continued caresses, could not bring himself to make her stop. Instead, he guiltily resigned himself to enjoying the soothing sensation, determined to revel in its exquisite warmth for as long as was possible. A veiled memory in the back of his mind, still distorted as he struggled to regained full consciousness, suggested Fenris had felt this touch before, though where or when he could not say.

Much to his disappointment, the woman soon removed her hand from Fenris' face. He felt her shift again as she leaned forward and sat back up, whatever she had placed near his head clinking softly in her grip. Her hand then returned, this time pulling down on his chin, encouraging his mouth to open, before she wrapped it around the back of his neck and lifted his head from the pillow.

Something hard pressed firmly against his lower lip, and before he could think to protest the coddling nature of such an action, a deliciously warm liquid was poured carefully into his mouth for him. Surprised and slightly abashed at the fact that he was allowing himself to be hand fed, Fenris had been given several spoonfuls before he realized what he was eating. Tomato soup; honestly some of the best he had ever had in his life - or death, if that was indeed the case, though he very much doubted it at this point. He heard the woman rest the spoon against the ceramic bowl she held with a soft clink, then felt her hand settle against his throat. She began massaging it gently, no doubt trying to encourage him to swallow his mouthful of soup. The elf readily complied, his rediscovered appetite appearing as if from thin air, along with his growling stomach.

Fenris spent the next several minutes savoring the taste of his meal and the gentle touches of his caregiver. The food in his belly seemed to do wonders for his senses and strength; it soon became much easier for him to form fully coherent thoughts, while he found that his arms, legs, and eyelids were becoming much lighter and more willing to move. He was sure that he would be able to sit himself up at this point, but remained still with his eyes closed for the time being, as he was still sorely tempted to give in and fall back into sleep once more.

When the last of his soup had been finished off, the woman gingerly laid his head back into the pillows, the bowl clinking softly against the floor when she set it down. Fenris gave a slight, involuntary shiver as his covers were lifted, only to have their warmth quickly replaced once his arm had been pulled free and set on top of the bedding. A hand entangled itself with his, gripping tightly and rubbing its thumb around his knuckle, while another resumed its earlier task of stroking the side of his face. He smiled inwardly to himself, happy to have the contact return, though he knew he would never admit it openly.

After a short time, Fenris felt himself drifting back to sleep, but was brought out of his stupor by a faint noise. The elf furrowed his brow ever so slightly, perking his ears to try to pin point exactly what the sound was. He did not have to wait long to hear it again. With a pang of shame in his stomach for not making it known sooner that he had woken up, Fenris realized the woman next to him was stifling the sounds she made while she quietly wept. It was then that he caught a second small, but much stronger, whiff of his caregiver's scent, blown towards him as she raised her hand away from his face. His chest swelled and nearly burst at his sudden awareness of why the aroma had been so familiar and enjoyable to him earlier.

Camomile and lavender. That was Hawke's scent, Fenris was sure of it. Less than a heartbeat later, almost as if to affirm his conviction in his new discovery, her voice lifted, finally loud enough for him to understand and recognize.

"I'm sorry, Fenris. I'm so, so sorry," She choked out, voice thick with tears, "This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if it weren't for me."

Fenris' head rushed and reeled as a cacophony of emotions abruptly shot through him. Delight that Hawke was the one who had taken care of him. Excitement that it was her hands that had been touching and holding him. Humiliation that she had no doubt seen him exposed and vulnerable. Confusion and curiosity as to how it was possible that they were both alive. Concern for her well-being and condition after all she had been through. Anger at himself for taking so long to realize it was her the whole time. However, above the storm of reactions that raged in Fenris' head, there was one in particular that pushed itself firmly to the front of his mind.

Overwhelming, unparalleled guilt. He had focused so greedily on the pleasure he received in Hawke's presence and care (even if he had not known it was her at the time), that Fenris had not noticed how troubled she was. His heart twisted itself into a knot at the idea that she was somehow finding a way to blame herself for what had happened with Danarius. The notion was of course nothing short of ludicrous. Everything that had happened to them had been entirely because of himself and his actions. _He_ had been fool enough to think Varania had come only for the sake of meeting him. _He_ had given in to his selfish wishes and had admitted he wanted Hawke's support at the tavern that day. _He_ had not paid close enough attention to her during the ensuing fight. _He_ failed to keep Danarius from her like he had sworn to himself he would. _He_ was not quick enough to prevent the magister's spell from hitting her. _He_ was the reason she had bled. _He_ was the reason she had almost died. The responsibility for what had happened was his, and his alone to bear, not hers. This unnecessary self-flagellation needed to end this instant. With a Herculean effort, his lids protesting like rusted door hinges all the while, Fenris forced his eyes open for the first time.

His vision was initially murky, obscuring everything within his sight. It took what felt like ages for it to clear, the elf growing ever more impatient with himself as Hawke continued to cry quietly beside him, unaware of the new development. When he was able to take in his surroundings, Fenris paused in momentary confusion. Why in the world was he here, of all places?

The chamber was bathed in a muted, warm light emanating from the grand marble fireplace to his right. A small cot he had never seen before was set up near the door, its blankets and pillow disheveled as if it had been slept on for several days. Everything in the room, from the deep red curtains to the elegant high-backed chairs to the dark walnut writing desk in the corner was cast in long shadows from the glow of the flames in the hearth. The tall legs of the massive four poster bed in which he rested reached up towards the ceiling around him, its canopy draping down gracefully in such a way that made him feel as if he were in a giant nest. With yet another stab of guilt mixed with terrible longing, Fenris' mind brought up vivid memories of the room, where he had spent both the best and worst night of his life. Pushing his self-pity and concern as to why he was in Hawke's bedroom aside for a later time, the elf forced his eyes to fall to his right, finally bringing a distressed Hawke into sharp relief before him.

The complete and utter misery that marred her beautiful face was enough to make Fenris wish he were able to crawl into a dark, dank hole to never emerge from again. Hawke looked as if she had not had a decent night's sleep in days. Her normally rosy complexion was washed out, leaving her skin to look delicately pale and thin, as if she would break apart into dust with a strong enough breeze. Her eyes were surrounded by deep purple circles that the elf would have said looked like bruises had he not known any better. They were screwed tightly shut against the world, tears still managing to break through, wetting her lashes and running down her cheeks despite her valiant effort to keep them contained. The hand she had removed from his face was pressed firmly against her mouth, the attempt to silence the soft sniffling noises she still made only partially successful. He felt something tighten around his fingers and looked down. With a small thrill of excitement that he quickly admonished himself for, the elf saw that she still held his hand, clutching as if her dedication to keeping him in her grasp would be enough to make him wake up.

Fenris glanced down from her face to her throat, noticing a thin, pearly white line stretching from one side of her neck to the other. He blanched at the sight of it, feeling as if someone had stabbed him in the gut, twisting the knife as they went. If he felt terrible before as he had taken in the expression she wore, he felt utterly wretched now. This mark would be only one of three new brands Hawke now carried because of him, and it wasn't even the worst of them by far. His eyes trailed down the front of her robe, swallowing hard as he remembered all to vividly the grievous wound that had nearly split her in half. Fenris shivered at the thought of it. The remnants of the injuries at her neck and wrist could potentially fade with time and proper healing, but the scar left by Danarius' blood magic would burn scarlet against her flesh for the rest of her life. He struggled to suppress a vicious growl that built like an inferno in his chest, unable to find strong enough words in Arcanum, Qunlat, or Common to express his fierce desire for his former master to rot in the tenebrous bowls of the void.

Fenris took several slow, deep breaths, willing himself to quell the loathsome rage that had so easily whipped him into a mute frenzy. Danarius had paid for his transgressions against Hawke with his life, and dwelling on what he had done served no beneficial purpose. If he were to help remedy the situation at all, he needed to focus on Hawke, and Hawke alone. Turning his attentions back to where she sat at his side, the elf loosed his left arm from under the covers to raise his hand even with her face, fingers trembling with a mixture of nerves and lingering anger, stopping just short of her tear-stained cheek. He desperately wanted to comfort her, to make her see that none of this had been her doing. He wanted to beg her forgiveness for all of his failures, from their one night that had ended in catastrophe to the trap he had so naïvely led them into.

Fenris' pulse beginning to race out of nowhere as he willed himself to say something, anything to her, but the right words refused come. He tried to force himself to speak, hoping everything that he felt about her and what had happened between them would manifest into words if he could just begin talking, but found his voice as unwilling to cooperate as his disorganized thoughts.

He raged at himself internally, frustrated beyond all belief at his inability to tell Hawke the simple truth. This was unacceptable. He was a warrior, Hawke's sword for nearly six years, making fast plans and acting on them in the middle of chaos was all in a day's work. He certainly could not pause in the middle of a battle to calculate the exact course of action he should take. So why was he panicking now over the thought of choosing one wrong word?

The answer to his quandary was obvious as soon as it had run through his mind. Fenris was scared.

Andraste's blood, he was pathetic, but it was the truth. There were too many ways his chances of setting things right between himself and Hawke could be ruined, when they were already meager as it was. He might say something cruel without intention, lose his temper with himself and turn on Hawke in his stead. She could push him away, refuse to accept his pitiful apology and laugh in his face. Or worse, everything could go perfectly. What in the Maker's name would he do then? Fenris wasn't sure he was capable of drumming up the courage it would take to admit to Hawke that Danarius' mistreatment had been the reason he had run from her in the first place. What if she thought him weak for letting something so far in his past torment him as it did? The whole situation was far too perilous for the elf to even think of deluding himself with false confidence.

Yet as much as the daunting task of clearing the air with Hawke terrified Fenris, part of him wanted it desperately. He had convinced himself that her finally knowing, if not necessarily accepting, why he had acted like such a fool would help remove at least some of the guilt he had carried for the past several years. In addition, the fact remained that before they had left for the Hanged Man, he had vowed he would come clean to her after all was said and done that day. A promise was a promise, he told himself, even if he was the only one who knew about it. There was also the simple notion that Hawke should know the truth, because Hawke deserved the truth. It was the least he could give her after all she had done for him and all he had put her through.

Fenris shook his head, snapping himself out of his revive, realizing with discomposure that his hand had been left hanging lamely in the air during the whole of his self-reflection, mere inches from Hawke's face. Thankfully she had remained oblivious to his awkward positioning, her eyes still shut tight against the world. The hand that had originally covered her mouth was now hopelessly tangled in her short black hair, her forehead pressed firmly into its palm while her elbow supported her against a knee. She had succeeded in her attempts to bring an end to the small sobs that escaped her throat, replacing them instead with urgent whispers the elf could not make out. As he took in the sight of her silent mumbling, another tear broke through her lashes and rolled slowly down her cheek closest to his hand.

Fenris grimaced at the sight of it, frustration wining out over his initial fear in a heartbeat. Something had to be done. He still had no conception as to what he would tell her or how he would say it, but he could not stand to watch another second of Hawke's anguish without acting. Before he fully knew what he was doing, Fenris cupped her cheek in his free hand, wiping away the tear with his thumb before continuing to stroke the side of her face.

The moment his hand touched her, Hawke's mumblings ended abruptly, her grasp tightening into a death grip around the elf's hand she still clutched while her eyes shot open. Her gaze dropped to his face, finding his eyes in an instant, utter shock running rampant in her features. A small, surprised gasp escaped her lips as if electricity had sparked between the two of them at his contact. She began stammering yet again, her words toppling over themselves like patrons of the Hanged Man at closing time. Fenris had to bite his tongue to suppress an involuntary chuckle at her ramblings. Hawke's incoherent sputtering and wide-eyed incredulity reminded him forcibly of an embarrassed Merrill after having been let in on the meaning of one of Isabela's innuendos.

"Fenris!" She finally managed to half whispered, fresh tears joining the loosed torrent of words that continued to plummet from her mouth. The sight of them caused an all too familiar prickle of anger to manifest itself in Fenris' chest, swiftly stomping out any humor he had felt mere moments ago. He did his best to hide his scowl at her renewed sadness behind a small smile, hoping it would be enough to stem her misery and prevent her from thinking he was displeased with her.

Unfortunately, his action did not produce the desired result. Rather than calming at the sight of his grin, Hawke started to sob in earnest, her eyes suddenly swimming as she threw herself roughly against his chest, knocking the wind out of him momentarily while her hands clawed and grasped desperately at his tunic. She buried her head into his shoulder, loud, muffled sobs echoing throughout the room as her chest shook and trembled against his. Fenris froze, unsure what to do and at a complete loss for words. His one arm was still held out in a maladroit manner from where he had held her face, too panicked by the rush of female emotion from Hawke to think to lower it. This was exactly the opposite of what he had wanted. It seemed he had little chance of making things right - even his attempt at a smile upset her. By the Maker, was he truly that terrible at this? Desperate to find some way to help ease her weeping, Fenris placed one arm around her waist while the other rested itself on the back of her head, pulling her close to him for a second attempt at a comforting gesture. She latched herself tighter to him in response, holding on as if she expected someone to attempt to tear her away.

Fenris shuddered as a flash of heat ran through him, his body reacting involuntarily to the sensation of having Hawke pressed so close to him. He was reminded forcefully of the many nights he had spent up until that day fantasizing about holding her just as he was now. He found that the memories which had fueled the daydreams were extremely lacking, and simply could not compete with the real sensation. It did not take long before the elf recognized with horror that an all too familiar stirring in his groin had begun to materialize in response to her presence. Fenris muffled an angry curse into Hawke's hair, disgusted at himself and feeling like a lecherous deviant. This was far from the appropriate time for such a response from him, even if he could not control it.

Luckily (or unluckily, Fenris could not quite decide) he would not need to worry about his body's show of unwarranted interest in her for long. He did not know why or how, but after a very brief drop in volume, his latest attempt to lighten Hawke's mood was met with a piercing wail that rang louder than ever in his ears. He cringed at the noise, concerned for the sake of his hearing as he felt the beginnings of a strong headache develop at the back of his skull. At the rate she was going, the whole of Hightown would be awake in a matter of minutes, let alone anyone else who may be sleeping inside the estate. Subtlety, it seemed, was not going to work in Fenris' favor tonight.

He pulled his hand from Hawke's head, ghosting down past her ear and collecting her chin in his grasp. He pulled gently, but firmly, against her face, tilting it up to him. Her eyes were red and puffy, while the rest of her face (along with the left shoulder of his until then pristine tunic) was drenched and streaked with tears. He smiled sadly, once again hiding his frustration at being the cause of her distress, and shushed her as kindly as he could.

With a great, but silent, sigh of relief, Fenris found that after a few short moments of his hushing, she began to ease in his arms. Hawke still looked absolutely miserable, but had managed to lower her cries to small sniffles and scarce whimpers. She had also stopped her heaving and trembling, forcing them to die down to occasional small quivers against Fenris' torso. He kept a firm grasp on her chin, not daring let go for fear she would retreat back into his shoulder to resume her keening.

Fenris sighed again, out loud this time, as he steeled himself, his eyes closing with a furrowed brow for a moment before opening them again to look directly into her own.

"I know I do not deserve to ask any favors from you," Fenris choked out, his voice cracking from disuse, "but if I may be so bold, please stop crying, Marian. Seeing you in such sorrow is utterly devastating."

Hawke froze at his words, remaining unmoving for several seconds. The smallest hint of color returned to her face, appearing in the form of a slight tinge on her cheekbones as she moved again, pulling a hand up to her eyes and wiping furiously at the dampness. She looked down at their bodies, taking in just how close the two of them were to each other, and went from pale pink to deepest red in seconds. She quickly pushed off the bed and back into her original position by his side, hands folded firmly in her lap and posture going rigid as a statue. Her eyes darted back and forth across the room, looking everywhere but at the man beside her before settling on the fireplace's mantle. She studied it intently, refusing to lower her gaze, apparently having found the molding to be of great interest.

Fenris' heart sank at her new distance and clear avoidance of his gaze, while a bitter chill ran through him from the loss of her warmth against his chest. The possessive, animalistic part of his brain raged against and protested his inaction. It insisted he pull her back into his arms that very second, that he draw her into himself and never let go again. His caution won out however, and he was able to resist the admittedly tempting urge. Hawke was making it perfectly clear, even silent as she was, that she would not appreciate such a gesture from him at this time, and frankly he could not blame her. He instead focused on setting himself upright in bed, bringing himself to rest against the smooth headboard behind him as he fiddled with the quilt that covered his lap nervously.

Fenris tried desperately to think of something to say to break the pointed tension that permeated the room, but found his own reticence a monstrously challenging barrier as always. He chanced a look in Hawke's direction, his chest tightening as he found her studying a nearly invisible marking on her wrist, tracing it lightly with a finger. She trailed her eyes suspiciously across the bed, finding his right hand as it rested against a covered knee, before glancing up herself and meeting Fenris' eyes. She turned her head away from him quickly, blushing again as she found her own wrist once more.

"You remembered," Hawke mumbled quietly. Fenris looked after her quizzically, unsure what she had meant. She turned her gaze slightly, taking in his befuddled expression from the corner of her eyes before continuing. "The promise you made me. You told me you would start calling me 'Marian' again. I don't think I believed you at the time. I'm glad I was wrong."

She lifted her head, looking sidelong at the elf next to her and giving him a tentative, sheepish grin. Fenris felt a rush of hope flood his veins at the sight of it. It was merely a ghost of her more traditional beaming smile, but it was certainly a start. At the very least, it wasn't new cries or fresh tears.

Hawke took a deep breath, the smile faltering as she scrunched her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"I'm so, so sorry, Fenris. About everything, about all of this," She sighed, raising both of her opened hands and dropping them on her lap with a look of disgust, "None of this would have happened if I hadn't been so careless, so stupid. This is all my fau-"

"That's enough!" Fenris ordered sternly, his eyes flashing with indignation. Before he could realized what he was doing, he had leaned forward urgently, an arm reaching out and taking a rough hold of Hawke's wrist. His jaw tightened and brow narrowed, unwilling to permit her self-accusation.

Her eyes flew open, looking at him with shocked disbelief from his unexpected roughness in both voice and action. Fenris felt himself flush at the injured glare she gave him, immediately humbled by his boorish behavior. He loosened, but did not relinquish, his grip on her at once, and forced himself to relax his features. Hoping he now appeared only serious and not menacing, the elf gave her hand a gentle squeeze before continuing to speak.

"Do not blame yourself, Hawke. You hold no responsibility," He said in a low, even tone. With relief, Fenris watched as her eyes softened and her tensed posture relaxed; It seemed yet another of his uncouth outbursts had been easily forgiven. How she held so much patience for him, he would never understand.

A single, small chuckle shook her shoulders.

"That's kind of you to say, Fenris, but you shouldn't make excuses for me. I most certainly am responsible for what happened, even if you don't realize it," She affirmed, shaking her head with a self-depreciating smile, "Its just one more grand catastrophe to add to my list of failures."

"List of failures?" Fenris asked, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

"Carver, Bethany, Mother, and now you," Hawke lamented, a tortured look twisting the edges of her mouth, "I could have prevented it all, if I hadn't been so stupid."

"Marian, that's not - "

"Let me finish, Fenris!" She exclaimed, "I saw the ogre make a run for Carver. I had time, I could have stepped in, drawn its attention away, done something to keep it away from him. But I didn't. I let my fear of the blighted thing get the better of me. I stood there like a frightened child, and watched it crush my brother.

"Mother didn't want Bethany to go on the expedition with us," Hawke continued with vehement resentment, "You saw it yourself, before we left for the Deep Roads. She pleaded with her, begged me to not take her with us. I should have listened, told Bethany it was better for her to stay at home, even if she hated me for it. But I knew she wanted to go, and I didn't want to disappoint her. 'Its Bethany's choice, Mother,' I said, 'I won't force her to stay behind if she wants to come'. And now she's dead, rotting in some ruin for darkspawn to pick over, all because I didn't want to upset her.

"How many times did we traipse back and forth across the city, looking for women who had disappeared after receiving white lilies?" Hawke asked sardonically. She plowed on, not willing to wait for a response from the elf, "Enough so that a person with any common sense would have known to be wary the moment Mother received her's. I was too busy involving myself in politics I barely understood. Too distracted from trying to be the peacemaker between the Arishok and Viscount to pay any attention to what was going on right under my nose. And Mother paid for my negligence with her life.

"Then you, Fenris. I think I failed you in the worst way. Anders told me about what happened, what I couldn't remember. He said that by the time he saw me, there wasn't anything he could have done on his own. That the only reason I'm still here is because – because you let him – because you gave me -" She stammered, struggling to finish her sentence. She stopped for a moment, visibly compelling herself to calm and breathing deeply. With a grimace that suggested she was unsure if she honestly wanted to know the truth, Hawke asked, "Did you really do what Anders claims?"

Fenris froze at the question, afraid of what she would do if he answered honestly and still taken aback by the terrible guilt he now knew Hawke had laden herself with. He steadied himself, coming out of his revive and to the conclusion that honesty would be the best course of action. Denying what he and the mage had done, he told himself, would only cause further harm and animosity between himself and Hawke. Hesitantly, he lifted his right hand to turn it palm side up, revealing a new scar that marred the elegant lines of lyrium in his skin. Hawke eagerly took his hand in her own, a sharp intake of breath filling her chest at the closer sight. Fenris watched with apprehension as she slowly ran her fingers along the line, uncertain and wary of how she would react to the conformation of what she apparently dreaded.

"So its true," She whispered, raising a stunned look to his view, "You let Anders use blood magic on you."

"Yes," Fenris admitted, squirming uncomfortably under her new gaze.

"You almost died. Because of me," She bemoaned, dropping his wrist as her head fell into her open hands in utter defeat. "Just like everyone else."

"No! Enough, Marian! Stop this!" Fenris demanded, taking her face in both his hands and forcing her to look at him, his courage finally coming back. He'd had quite enough of this madness, it was time for it to end, "Their deaths were tragic, but they were _not _your doing. You did everything that you could have to try to save them. How could you have possibly anticipated any of what happened?"

"I could have -"

"No," He growled, not allowing her the chance to speak, "you couldn't have. As gifted as you are, Marian, you cannot see into the future. There was no way for you to have known what was going to happen. You need to stop blaming yourself."

"And what about what happened at the Hanged Man?" Hawke challenged, pulling herself from his hands with her dour expression still firmly in place. "What about what happened there, what I caused, Fenris?"

"If anyone is responsible for what happened with Danarius, its me, Marian," Fenris admitted, falling back against the headboard, his self-loathing resurfacing with a vengeance.

"Oh?" Hawke quipped, her tone dripping sarcasm as her look hardened, arms folding across her chest, "And I suppose you were the one who made me throw myself at Danarius like an idiot when we almost had him beat, then?"

"What in the name of the Void are you talking about?" Fenris asked, confusion contorting his features with dense creases. The frustration in Hawke's face eased as she heaved yet another sigh, replacing her chagrin with the same crestfallen frown from earlier in their conversation.

"During the fight, before everything went to shit. We were doing so well, I was sure we'd have him beat and out of your life in a matter of seconds. Then I saw Danarius raise his staff and point it at you. He was going to attack you while your back was turned, and I panicked," She explained, voice wavering with emotion as she recalled it, "My mind went blank. All I could think of was that he was going to kill you, Fenris, and how I would die myself if I lost another person that I lov- that I care for."

Another burst of color passed over her cheeks as she stumbled to correct herself, a visible fluster flitting across her before she was able to hid it behind a purposefully blank look. The half-slip of her words and sight of her blush sent a thrill of joy through Fenris' chest, easily overriding the ire he felt from learning of Danarius' attempted ambush. His former master assaulting him from the shadows like a coward was not a surprise to him after all, he had seen him do the very same thing to countless other hapless victims dozens of times.

In contrast, Hawke's words, accompanied by that bloom of crimson, had been earth shattering. That one sentence, that one show of slight embarrassment, had taken the dying embers of Fenris' hopes to fix what he had broken between himself and his former lover and fanned them into blazing flames. It seemed all was not lost after all.

His male ego goaded him to jump at the new opportunity that very second before it slipped away, to admit every single thing he had been hiding from her for three years, but he restrained himself. Hawke still had more to say, he could sense it, and while he felt that he would soon burst at the seams for all that he was now eager and willing to, no, _wanting _to tell her, he needed to allow her to finish speaking first. He knew it would be continued justifications as to why what had happened was her fault, and he would listen to and refute it with enthusiasm gladly. Then she would finally know the full truth.

"I didn't think," Hawke pressed on, oblivious to the elf's lightened mood and choosing to ignore her tongue's blunder altogether. Fenris, however, noticed with smirking satisfaction that the flush on her pale skin remained firmly in place. "I hurled myself at him like a lunatic. I didn't even try to use my daggers, for Andraste's sake! I dropped them at his damn feet and clawed at him with my bare hands like a rabid animal! He blasted me from him, grabbed one of my knives, kicked the other across the room, and stuck it at my neck before I had time to lift my head off the floor. I may as well have given myself to him on a silver platter! When you turned to go with him after he'd used me like that against you, I lost it. So what did I do? Not take the ten seconds I needed to think of a different plan, no, that would be intelligent! Instead, I did the same asinine thing all over again, and got myself nearly split in two!"

Her head fell heavily, her teeth barred as new tears budded at her eyes. She continued staring at her hands, avoiding the elf's gaze as best she could.

Fenris breath caught like ice in his lungs, trying his best to hide the shear horror he felt at the pictures her words had stirred in his mind. Hawke had intentionally thrown herself in harms way, all to keep _him_ safe. The idea made his head spin horribly. He never would have dared to think in all his wildest dreams that anyone would find him worthy of such a self-sacrifice. The fact that someone did, and that someone had been Hawke, was the most humbling sensation he had ever experienced. Yes, her plan had back fired, and yes, things had gone from bad to worse like a landslide afterwords, but the fact remained that at that moment, she had held more concern for his well-being than her own.

"I was going to die, I knew it the second I hit the ground," Hawke stated plainly, still keeping her head low, "I was terrified at first, but then when I opened my eyes, you were right there next to me. I knew that meant you must have killed Danarius, knew you were finally rid of him, and all of a sudden I wasn't scared anymore. That bastard would never come after you or hurt you again. I was alright with the idea of dying, happy to in fact, because somehow the same mistake that had killed me had given you the opportunity to start over. I was ecstatic for you, even though I knew I would never have a chance to be a part of your new life. But then Anders told me what happened, told me that you offered up your blood, insisted on it even, so he could save my sorry ass. He told me that at one point, you died. You weren't breathing, your heart had stopped."

"You were _dead_, Fenris," Hawke choked on tears, her body giving out as it crumbled upon itself into a heap on the bed, "And it was all because of _me_."

Fenris reached out and wrapped both his arms around the broken woman, not thinking, but knowing without hesitation what needed to be done. He pulled her into himself, placing her curled body into his lap and holding her tightly to his chest as she tucked her head under his chin and into his shoulder. He did not try to stem the muffled sounds of anguish that came from her this time, did not hush or console her. Instead he let her sorrow build and overtake her like a black wave. As much as the painful cries broke his heart, Fenris knew that they had to be allowed. If he were going to help her reject this foolish notion that she had been responsible for his near death, then she needed this uninterrupted period of grief-stricken collapse. He let her cling to him like a lifeline, listened in agony as she called herself the most horrible names imaginable and made wild speculations that he would have been better off having never met her. He did his best to remain silent, letting her know with the gentle pressure of his arms around her that he was still there, and still listening.

They sat together like that for some time, Hawke's strident wails and assertions of guilt eventually dying down to soft sniffles and muttered apologies for her behavior.

"- can't believe I broke down like that," She groaned with a raw voice as she lifted her mouth from Fenris' shoulder, "I'm sorry you had to hear it. Maker, how embarrassing."

"There is no reason for you to apologize," He assured her. She did not respond, choosing instead to rest her head back against his neck with a groan.

"Marian," Fenris said without fear, lifting her face with his fingertips. It was now or never, he told himself, "there are many things I need to tell you, but before I begin, I need a promise from you."

"What's that?" Hawke laughed sadly, "That I'll stop my blubbering long enough for your shirt to dry?"

"Hardly," Fenris prodded back, chuckling with relief at her attempted humor, "I need you to promise that you will believe what I say, and will let me speak without interruption."

"That's an odd thing to ask someone to promise," Hawke said, a hint of puzzlement in her tone.

"Please, Marian," Fenris pleaded, beseeching her, "It will be – difficult – for me to tell you some of what I am about to say. If I stop speaking, I do not know if I will have the nerve to continue. I would not ask this of you if it were not so."

"Oh, fine," Hawke huffed, though the elf saw with a widening of his smirk that her lips had cracked into the smallest of understanding smiles. "Have it your way, then. I promise."

"What you did at the Hanged Man, putting yourself between Danarius and I, was without a doubt the bravest, most selfless thing anyone has ever done for me," He said without hesitation, sincerity ringing effortlessly in his voice. He glanced down to gauge Hawke's reaction, and was not surprised to see her return the look with one of heavy bewilderment. Her brow was cocked high into her hairline, while her mouth hung half-open, as if she desperately wanted to refute the claim. In the end Fenris was relieved to see her keep to her promise, biting her tongue and resigning herself with a humph to hear out the rest of what he had to tell her. He smiled, silently thanking her with another squeeze for her patience while he steadied himself to say what he had avoided for so long.


	6. Chapter 5 Part 2

**Author's Note: **You're still here? Awesome! Just a friendly warning that this chapter has the most sexually explicit content in the story. This was my first attempt at anything resembling smut, so I hope it's at least somewhat enjoyable. Let me know with a review if it was alright, or if I should never attempt the subject again. : ) Now on with the show!

Guilty Pleasure - Chapter 5 Part 2

"I should start from the beginning, that's the best way to make sense of it all," He said, a nervous crack shaking his voice, "When I left you that night, I told you that my memories from before my markings had come back to me, that I had seen flashes of the life I had prior to Danarius. I did not lie, they did come to me, they did appear and vanish just as quickly as I claimed, but I was not entirely truthful as to how much they affected me. Yes, I was startled by them, and yes, I was distraught when they left me, but they were not the reason for my abandonment.

"Do you – do you recall the things that Danarius claimed, about – about what happened between him and I?" Fenris asked.

"I – Yes, I remember," Hawke answered tentatively, concern and the beginnings of realization dawning in her eyes. She sat herself up and turned slightly in his arms, facing the elf and placing her hands tenderly on his forearm, sending a shiver through his body. He swallowed hard, encouraging himself to continue. He had come so far already, he couldn't back down now.

"Fenris?" Hawke called. Another shiver up his spine, from the small of his back to the very tips of his ears. Her gentle voice and gestures were a bigger comfort to him than he could ever accurately describe to her, of that he was sure. "What did he do to you, Fenris?"

"In Tevinter, it is not uncommon for a magister to use one or more of their slaves as an outlet for their more - carnal urges. Why spend coin at the brothel when you have a mansion full of warm bodies who cannot refuse you? When I was still a slave, still Danarius' loyal dog," He started to explain, voice still rough with nerves, though an unmistakable bitterness and venom was now present at the magister's mention, "I was no exception. While my main purpose was to act as his bodyguard, as I have told you and the others in our group who asked, it was unfortunately not my only role. I was forced to act as that sadist's bed partner for years."

Another cold spasm, though this one was of an entirely different, malicious nature.

"No lover should ever have to endure the malevolent, twisted things Danarius would do and say under the guise of intimacy.

"When I finally managed to escaped, the threat of his return was always there, constantly following me like a dark shadow. Every empty street hid a trap, every dark alley an ambush lying in wait. Any person I encountered was a threat, a possible rat willing to turn me in to my former master. Unfortunately, more often than not my hesitations proved well founded. The promise of gold for my betrayal proved too tempting for the few people I lingered near. I never truly rested during that time. I was always on alert, ready to attack at the merest hint of foul intentions.

"And then I met you, Marian," Fenris said affectionately, the cold glare that had been in place as he had divulged the truth about his former master easily melting into one of adoration as the topic shifted to Hawke, "and everything changed. I had never in my life met anyone so willing to help another without expectation of reward, simply because they felt that it was the right thing to do. You were so kindhearted, charismatic and genuine, I couldn't help but find myself finally at ease when I was around you. I was able to drop my guard, allow myself to enjoy your company, even dare to consider you a friend.

"As time went on, I grew fonder and fonder of you. I found myself thinking of you more with the passing of each day. The sound of your voice and laughter, the sight of your smile, the feel of your reassuring touch. Soon enough I no longer enjoyed your presence, I craved it, needed it like a man needs air. I was furious at myself. I could not fathom what had gotten into me, why I was allowing you to affect me in such a way. Until one day, when the truth of the matter finally came to me," said Fenris, his voice growing husky and eyes softening as he cupped Hawke's cheek in a calloused hand. A sharp, excited breath caught in her chest at his touch, causing the corners of his slim mouth to twist into an anxious smile, "I had fallen for you. The notion was unbelievable to me at first. It seemed like an illusion, a waking dream. After all that had happened in my past, both before and after escaping from Danarius, I had thought myself incapable of the trust that was required to feel any kind of kinship towards someone, let alone the infatuation I held for you. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

"I came to you that same day," Fenris explained, still caressing Hawke's face, "Once I accepted what had come over me, I could not resist acting upon it. I told myself that there was little chance you could feel the same longing for me as I did you, but I felt it was better to be honest with you and risk having my heart broken than to do nothing and remain in agonizing uncertainty. When you didn't shy away from my advances, reciprocated them even, I lost myself in the moment. All the tension, nerves, and self-doubt that had plagued me were gone in an instant, replaced instead by overwhelming desire. I needed to be with you, to feel you, to show you just how much you meant to me with action since the few words I had managed to speak had been so insufficient. I remember looking at you when we had moved to your bed, and not being able to believe how fortunate I was to be with you. Your touch, your kiss, the feel of you against me, was extraordinary. It was better than anything I have ever experienced to this day, that I promise you. But that was when the memories came."

Fenris' voice and eyes shook painfully, the change not going unnoticed by Hawke, who gave another reassuring press of her hands against his arm. A wide array of emotions had been rising and falling across her features in never-ending waves for the past several minutes as she had silently listened to him speak. Shock, fury, concern, understanding, astonishment, excitement and what he had assumed with a thrill had been happiness at his admittance of his affection for her had all been present. Now, however, anxiety presented itself in the thinning of her lips and the furrowing of her brow above her troubled eyes as she waited for him to reveal what he was sure she had already determined.

"They were tolerable, at first," said Fenris, speaking in as even a tone as was possible, "small glimpses of people and places that I did not recognize, but must have known from before I had been branded. Soon they grew more intense, changing from still images to moving ones, but they were not enough to cause me great concern. I will admit, I was distressed when they left me, but not enough to make me run from you like I did. In fact, I was almost hopeful in a way. I told myself that perhaps if I was lucky enough to keep you, to have you want to stay with me, that you might be willing to help me bring them back in full.

"That was when the visions started, the ones that were the true cause of my flight from your side," Fenris continued quietly, his determination wavering as he approached the source of his shame, "My mind betrayed me in the worst possible way. I began to have visions, hallucinations almost, of Danarius and what he had done. I could hear his voice in my ear, feel his hands on my body, and no matter how I tried, I could not be rid of them. The fact that I was reliving the nights he had used me while you gave yourself to me so freely, so beautifully, was blasphemous. I felt tainted, filthy, unworthy of you.

"While you slept, I agonized over what to do. I knew could not tell you the truth, I was too ashamed, too terrified you would think I was weak. I thought about simply hiding it from you, pretending nothing wrong had happened, but the threat of re-experiencing his torture if we were ever to be intimate again was unacceptable. You deserved better than that, someone who could fully appreciate all you had to give and return it in kind, not some broken elf who could not make love to you without imagining his rapist's abuse. I fooled myself into thinking that leaving you was the kind thing, the right thing to do. I nearly destroyed myself when I did, but I was convinced you would be better for it, even if you were distraught at the time, even if it made me hate myself.

"For the past three years, I have done nothing but drag you through Hell. I became furious at myself for not having the courage to explain why I left, or the courage to beg your forgiveness. Instead of taking my anger as a sign that I should come forward with the truth, I lashed out at your unwavering kindness, pushed you further and further away from me. I was continuing to hurt you, ruining the best thing that had ever happened to me, but I couldn't stop myself. I was too afraid. I worried that you would not accept my pitiful apology. That you would tell me I was too late, or that if I tried, I would let my temper get the better of me and lose not only the chance to regain your affection, but the friendship you had miraculously continued to give me even after what I had done.

"But there was something else I feared, something that terrified me more than the culmination of all my other doubts," Fenris explained, his heartbeat racing as he recalled how his nightmare had almost come true, "I knew Danarius still intended to make an attempt on my freedom, and that he would stop at nothing until I was under his control or he had ripped the flesh from my bones to regain his investment. I was putting you and everyone else around me in danger, simply by associating with you. If Danarius were to find out that we had been together, or that I still held you close to my heart, it would not have been below him to hurt or kill you to manipulate me.

"I could not risk losing you like that, not to Danarius, not to anyone. So I continued to distance myself from you, hoping that it would be enough to keep you out of harm's way. Yet another one of my brilliant failures, it would seem. All it took was that one moment of weakness. One instance, and you were in his hands, dagger at your throat. All because I had been too eager for your support and reassurance in meeting my sister.

"Now I come to discover," Fenris said, incredulity rampant in his tone, "that you willingly risked yourself for the sake of my safety. The concept of such an action in my benefit is simply mind-boggling to me. All my life I was told I was worthless, that I was expendable, an inessential pawn whom Danarius was all too willing to replace should I ever became useless to him. I never once dared to think anyone could hold any real value for me as a person. And yet, you did. You of all people, Marian, who I had treated so cruelly. You risked your safety and your life for me without a second though. That is why I say what you did was brave, was selfless. You put yourself between myself and a magister twice, who you knew full well would try to kill you for interfering.

"And he was very nearly successful," Fenris choked, his voice darkening with the recollection of fear that had coursed through his veins, "I watched you fall to the floor, saw how much of your blood had been spilt. By all rights you should have been dead at that moment. The fact that you lived long enough for me to get you to Anders for healing was a miracle in itself. You were very right about what happened next. Anders told me what would be necessary to save you, and I made him go through with it."

"But why would you do that?" Hawke asked urgently, interrupting for the first time, "You were offering yourself up for slaughter!"

"Because I love you," He whispered as he turned away, unable to bring himself to watch her reaction. It was done. He had told her everything. She finally knew the truth, and though he may quickly come to regret it, nothing he did or said now could take it back. All he could do was hope she would not laugh, or worse, become angry at the ridiculousness of it all. He braced himself as best he could for her reaction, but nothing could have prepared him for what was to come.

Two small hands flew to the sides of his face, forcing his head to turn back to center with unexpected insistence. Arms twisted themselves around his neck, jerking him forward before they intertwined around his shoulders and neck, one hand snaking its way into the hair at the back of his head. Fenris froze, his eyes flying open just in time to take in the shortest glimpse of Hawke, her eyes shining with a brutal ardor he could not even begin to describe. In the next instant she had thrown herself against him, her mouth suddenly pressing upon his in a bruising chaste kiss that temporarily shoved his troubles to the back of his mind. He felt himself relax at once, wrapping his arms around her as though he had done so a thousand times and pulling her closer to him, eager to prolong their contact.

Before he could surrender himself in full to the exhilarating moment, Fenris felt her pull away from him, causing a small whimper of protest to fall from his lips before he could stop himself. No sooner had the kiss ended before he felt his old worries rear their ugly heads, this time accompanied by new fear that surfaced once he opened his eyes and took in the sight of the woman in front of him. Hawke was staring at him with the same burning intensity he had seen just moments ago, though now clear undertones of annoyance and what he recognized with a painful clenching of his chest was sadness jumped out at him from the lines of her face.

"You damned stubborn elf," she scolded, "Why didn't you tell me all of this sooner? And why in the name of Andraste's tits would you even _think_ about taking yourself away from me like that?"

"You were dying because of me, Marian," Fenris answered, taken aback by the question. He had expected to be chastised, but not for his near success in removing himself from her life. If anything, he would have thought she would be grateful for that. "If I had not taken you with me to the tavern that night -"

"You would have ended up outnumbered and most likely dead, even with Varric and Isabela's help," Hawke snarled, "And besides, I was the one who made you let me come, if I remember correctly."

"You did," he admitted sadly, ashamed of himself, "And if I had a stronger will, I never would have allowed it."

"Oh come off it, Fenris! I went with you to the tavern because I wanted to, and I would have gone whether you 'allowed' it or not, even if I'd had to drag you kicking and screaming," Hawke affirmed, an almost dangerous look challenging him to rebut her, "You make all these claims that I need to accept that my family's deaths and your close call weren't my fault, and maybe you're right, but look at yourself! You're shouldering all the blame for what happened to me because you couldn't get me to stay home!"

"There were many other things I could have done to prevent -"

"No, there weren't!" Hawke shouted, grasping the elf's face and forcing him to look at her much the same way he had earlier, "Remember what you said to me? 'You cannot see into the future,' Fenris! 'There was no way for you to have known what was going to happen!' I went with you because I didn't want you going alone. I attacked Danarius because I wanted to keep you safe. I ran after him when he was taking you away because I couldn't lose you. And do you want to know why?"

"Why, Marian?" Fenris asked morosely, feeling completely beneath such a show of loyalty from her, "Why would you put yourself in harm's way to protect me, after all I've done to wrong you?"

"Because I love you too, you dolt!"

Fenris' world screeched to a grinding halt. No, there was no way, he must have misheard. His hope for it had only grown over the course of their conversation, yes, but actually hearing it was something entirely different. The concept of her still caring for him, still wanting him, still _loving_ him was extremely difficult for him to swallow.

"Say it again," He pleaded frantically, the request coming out much courser than he intended as he placed both his hands on her shoulders and glared into her eyes, "If you mean it, say it again."

"I love you, Fenris," Hawke repeated unblinkingly, her irritation disappearing at the sound of desperation in his voice.

"After all this time?" He pushed, in dire need of conformation, "Even with all I have done and said to you? After everything we just went through? Even now that you know about my past?"

"Of course I do," She answered, her tone gentling to a soothing murmur, a smile responding to his resistance, "I know you never wanted to hurt me. I only wish you had been honest from the start, that you had trusted me enough to let me help you. What Danarius did to you was horrible, but it doesn't define who you are, and it affecting you does not make you weak. If anything, the fact that you were able to face him like you did proves how strong you are, Fenris!"

He could not think or breath. His mind had gone blank as she spoke. She loved him. She truly, honestly loved him. He had no idea how it was possible, and quite frankly did care in the least. All that mattered was that somehow this woman, this brave, compassionate, extraordinary woman, had made room in her heart for him. All the hesitations and fears he had allowed to control him for three years were banished, blown away like leaves in the wind. The joy that filled him was comparable to none other; it lifted his spirits and freed them of the heavy weighted chains he had imposed on himself for so long. Speech would not come to him, though it did not matter, paltry words could never adequately convey what he was feeling at that moment. Instead he chose to act, his male ego roaring with pride and satisfaction now that it was finally allowed to make an appearance.

With a predatory glare as her only warning, he attacked, pulling her back to him once more and devouring her in a kiss. She gasped at the urgency behind his movements, parting her lips for the quick intake of air. Fenris took advantage of this, sliding his tongue along her plump lower lip before invading her mouth, tangling itself with her own. With a heightened sense of pride, he felt her melt into his arms, returning his eagerness in kind as she enveloped his lean torso in her arms.

He brought his hand from behind her head, letting it ghost down the side of her face, along her chin and down her neck, breaking from her to trace the path with his mouth. Her head fell backwards, a throaty purr vibrating under his lips as he kissed and nipped his way down to the hallow of her neck.

His hands wandered over her robes, feeling the unmistakable surge of desire he knew so well building between his hips as he ran his hands along Hawke's gloriously feminine curves. The old memory of what lay in waiting beneath her clothing was enough to have him at full attention in the span of a few short seconds.

"Fenris -" She sighed, leaning forward and whispering into his ear, her lips brushing against it. The warm caress of her breath against the sensitive flesh sent electricity down his spine, causing an appreciative groan and twitch in his already strained small clothes, "Fenris, are you sure you want this? I don't want you to be uncomfortable if -"

"I've never wanted anything more," He growled, pushing himself against one of her thighs through the quilt to demonstrate, smirking against her neck at the sharp gasp he caused, "than I want you now. I've missed you all these years, I want to show you just how much."

In one swift movement, he took a firm hold of her around the waist, pulled the covers loose around them, and brought her flush against him on the bed and under the blankets, his mouth never breaking contact with what little of her skin was yet exposed. He shuddered at the feel of her warmth pressed so close against him, no longer separated by impossible piles of fabric.

"By all means then," She laughed in a breathy voice, gently nipping the tapered point of his ear and smiling at the way it made him stiffen against her, "Carry on!"

Soon his tunic had been discarded on the floor, Hawke's fingers freely tracing the pattern of his markings along his tanned shoulders, arms, and chest, her thumb and forefinger occasionally brushing past and tweaking the flat pad of his nipple. Fenris panted and sighed at the glorious attention. Her touch and sweet kisses had been slowly kindling flames in his flesh, ones that now quickly burst and spread like wildfire, setting every nerve in his body aflame. He could not wait any longer, he needed to feel more of her this instant.

Raising himself above her, he reached for the sash holding her robes closed with shaking hands, fumbling frantically with it. A nervous giggle sounded before Hawke's hands moved down her body to join his, helping him to untangle the knot. Fenris slid a hand under the hem of the dressing, stifling a moan at the feel of her skin as he pushed away the offending garment until it lay wide open and pooled around her.

Their long conversation and the heat of the moment had made the elf almost forget about Hawke's newest scar. A bright, crimson mar puckered and jumped out against the ivory pale of her skin as she lay exposed before him. It's jagged edges stretched diagonally across the length of her body, disappearing under and then continuing past the thin cloth of her breast band and small clothes. Fenris felt his chest constrict violently at the sight of it, realizing the mark would serve as a permanent reminder of just how much she had been willing to sacrifice to keep him safe. Hawke looked up to him, confused as to why he had stopped his frantic pace. She followed the line of his vision onto her body, her already flushed face turning a deeper red from the base of her neck to the top of her ears as she realized what had caught his focus.

"I'm – I'm so sorry, I – I forgot that was there now," She stuttered, mistaking Fenris' serious contemplation for an expression of disgust. She continued to stumble over her words as she rushed to refasten her robes, "It's ugly, I know. I'm sorry you had to see it – me – like this."

"No, Marian, don't hide yourself from me," Fenris insisted, his words a deep rumble in his chest that visibly made her shiver. He took hold of both her hands in one of his, pulling them above her head as he laid back down beside her. The motion caused the fabric to fall away and to her sides, exposing even more of her flat stomach, luscious curves and long legs, much to Fenris' excitement. He leaned in, kissing her as tenderly as he could, while marking short work of removing the cloth covering her breasts. Hawke keened softly into his mouth, pushing against him as he gently pinched and teased a newly exposed, taunt nipple between two fingers.

"You are beautiful," He whispered against her lips before moving his head down to the start of the scar at her shoulder, punctuating each of his next words with long licks and nibbles along the scarlet line's length, "Every. Last. Inch. Never forget that."

His hand slipped from her chest to be replaced by his mouth, suckling and nipping at both her breasts interchangeably as she squirmed in his arms. It seemed, he noticed with a sly grin, that she had quickly forgotten the pause in their play. With the other still holding hers firmly in place, his free hand traced great looping designs down her stomach, around her belly button and onto her legs. Once he had reached her knees his path changed course, running his fingers in long strokes up the inside of her thighs, much to her vocalized appreciation. With one last, languid pass up her leg, he slid his hand under her dampened smalls, pressing it against the wet heat of her center.

"Fenris!" Hawke mewled, eyes shut in bliss as she pressed her hips upwards against the flat of his palm. His mouth broke from her nipple to meet her mouth, muting the cries that followed as he slid one and then two long fingers inside of her, pumping in long, slow thrusts. His thumb soon joined, running itself in tight circles around her bud, feeling the delight he was giving her pulse around his fingers as she moaned, causing his own breath to catch in ragged gasps. With one final, jolting flick of his digit she cried out, arching herself off the bed. A swell of satisfaction at a job well done engulfed him as he felt the walls of her sheath clench and throb incessantly around him, sending tremors up to her fingertips still pinned above her head.

He loosed his hand from her wrists and she immediately found them at home around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder as her body came down from its high. Their rest was a brief one however, as soon they were reaching out to one another again, devouring each other with hungry kisses and desperate grasps. Hawke's robes were finally removed completely along with her smalls, joining the earlier discarded tunic on the floor. Fenris found that he still strained against the opening of his linen pants, despite them being significantly looser than his usual leather leggings. Hawke bent herself over him, gloriously nude and wearing a mischievous grin. She made quick work of the laces that restrained him, releasing his shaft and leaving him just as naked as she in a matter of moments.

"There," She purred appreciatively, her eyes running up and down the length of his body and lingering at his groin, "That's more like it."

Fenris gave a smirking growl and pushing himself off the bed, falling onto her and pressing her into the mattress. Hawke laughed, her hair falling about her head like a halo as she pulled him close for yet another achingly sweet kiss. He moaned, a heavy shudder spreading through his limbs like the tendrils of pleasure already present as he pressed himself against her milky skin, finally making the full contact he had craved for so long. They broke apart, leaving them both panting and gasping for breath. Fenris found his mouth alternating between her neck and the peaks of her breasts, nipping and licking in growing circles while his hips ground against hers and his hands wandered up and down her sides, his need for her only growing with the passing of each second.

"Please, Fenris," Hawke begged, eyes clouded with lust. Her hands were clutching at his shoulders while she tried to push him down, tempting him to take her, "Please..."

The desire that had been building inside of him finally came to a head. He quickly lowered himself against her, positioning his shaft outside of her opening and entering her in one long, smooth thrust, Hawke keening and crying her enjoyment as she writhed beneath him. He buried himself in her sheath, bringing her as close to him as anatomically possible, and held himself there. He basked in the moment, realizing with a rush of affection towards Hawke that as recently as a few days ago he never would have dreamed he could have the privilege of this experience with her again. He leaned over her, propping himself up on his elbows as his mouth claimed hers, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he began to move inside of her.

Maker, this was bliss! The tightness, friction and wet heat all mixed together into an intoxicating blend that constantly threatened to turn him into a wild animal. He willed himself to go slow, to be gentle, the last thing he wanted was to hurt his Hawke, but the way she raised her hips to meet his with every plunge made it excruciatingly difficult to keep control. She mewled under him, singing out praises for his performance that fed his ego and dragged her nails across his shoulders leaving welts. It was not long before Fenris felt the pressure of his imminent release building inside of him, warning that he would soon pass the point of no return. Hawke's walls were closing in on him, making the already snug passage even narrower and strengthening the wonderful sensation he felt around himself.

"Marian," he groaned, "I can't – soon-"

"Fenris!" Hawke cried as her hands flew to tangle in his hair, another climax ripping through her body and causing her to clench around him in a punishing rhythm. Fenris felt something snap as his body jerked and twitched within her, his back arching and head bowing towards Hawke's chest as his own peak flooded his senses. He felt the warmth of his seed coating the inside of her walls as he kept thrusting, the last of his orgasm drawing itself out.

At last he collapsed around her, feeling utterly exhausted but more content than he had been in years. He rolled off of her to one side, pulling her close and kissing her with everything he had left in him. She sighed happily, pulling away and tucking herself under his chin against his chest. He pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply and reveling in her scent. They lay intertwined together, lazing in the heady fog of their afterglow and exchanging low declarations of affection and love.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked some time later, lifting her head from his chest and looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Hmm?" He answered, his half-lidded eyes falling to hers, still coming down from his high.

"Did you – I mean, were there any -" She faltered, "Did you see anything?"

Fenris' mind was quickly brought out of his haze at her question. He had not had any memories, not one vision. His heart was racing yet again, pounding loudly in his ears. Hawke propped herself up with one arm, looking down at him with apprehension, no doubt worried by the amount of time it was taking him to answer her. He raised a hand to the side of her face, pulling her close for another kiss.

"Not a single one," He said, smiling for the way she beamed at his response. "It seems being without you for three years and nearly losing you to a magister has helped my mind recognize its priorities."

"Flatterer," She smirked, rising from the bed and making her way to the wash basin in the corner.

"Its not flattery if it's the truth," Fenris asserted, untangling himself from the blankets to join her. He stood behind her while she washed, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder, kissing her neck as he watched their reflections in the mirror. A wide grin crossed her face as she turned, handing him a new cloth to clean himself with.

"Keep that up and I just might be alright with the fact that I've slept on a cot for five nights," She teased, gesturing to the makeshift bed by the door.

"That reminds me," he remarked, the now damp cloth hanging limp in his hand, "How did I end up in your bed of all places, Marian? Not that I have any reason to complain..."

"Well, after I woke up in the clinic and Anders told me about what happened, he said you would need bed rest," Hawke explained, watching him with a lascivious eye as he washed up, "There was no way I was leaving you in your mansion by yourself, and Anders was too worn out himself after giving you so much of his blood. I had them bring you here so I could take care of you."

The rag fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a wet splat.

"What did you say?" Fenris shot, his head snapping up as he looked at Hawke in horror, hoping that his ears had played a trick on him.

"What, you're going to tell me you'd rather have woken up by yourself in your run down -"

"Not that!" Fenris interjected, shaking his head in frustration, "The abomination!"

"Stop calling him that!" Hawke scolded, going so far as to wag a finger in Fenris' direction, "If it weren't for him giving you his blood you would be dead by now!"

"His blood?!" Fenris shouted, his eyes widening and nose flaring at the notion. He looked down to the veins in his arms frantically, trying to imagine the abomination's blood flowing through them, mixing with his own as they spoke. No, that couldn't be right! The mage despised him! Why would Anders risk his own life to save a man he hated?

"Yes, his blood," Hawke repeated with indignation at his overreaction, "You've never given him enough credit. He may be a bit of an extremist, but Anders is as dedicated a healer and as loyal a friend you'll ever find, if you'd just give him a chance! He saved your life and has been checking in on you for days now for Maker's sake, and you've never been anything but horrible to him!"

Silence fell between the two of them, Fenris' ongoing attempt to wrap his mind around what the abominati- Anders had done for him occupying his full concentration. He had been in deep thought for several minutes before he remembered that they were both still standing in the middle of Hawke's bedchamber, and completely nude. He took a deep breath as he pulled Hawke to the bed, wrapping an arm around her as they fell back into the pillows. He ran a rough hand up his forehead and through his hair, trying to think_._ He may not like that the abomin- _Anders'_ blood was now a part of him, but the fact remained that he had given it to him to save his life, and had been the one that healed Hawke. If not for him, at least one and possibly both of them would be dead.

Hawke had returned to her place at his shoulder, one arm draped across and resting on his chest, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the whirl of a lyrium marking.

"He feels badly about it you know," She divulged, not taking her eyes off the line under her finger tip, "The blood magic. He says he doesn't regret what he did, that he's happy he was able to save the both of us, but that he wishes he'd been able to do it without the ritual. Apparently Justice has been giving him a miserable time about it, and now he's all worried about how the rest of the group will react once they find out."

"They are still unaware?" Fenris asked.

"He's been putting it off, saying that he needed to focus on making sure the two of us were doing alright. They're all getting impatient though, Varric in particular. Says he wants to get all the details while they're fresh so he can have the most accurate description possible," She explained with a snort, "He said he was going to the Hanged Man later tonight to tell them before they dragged it out of him."

Fenris sighed heavily, pulling himself from Hawke as he rose from the bed a second time. He could scarce believe what he had convinced himself to do, but knew that if he was to go through with it he did not have time to ruminate. He made his way to the large armoire that was set along the same wall as the washstand, where he had spied his clothing and armor piled neatly earlier. Once dressed he turned, catching himself in the looking glass of the basin. An abrupt sense that something was slightly off came over him, though exactly what he could not tell. He cast himself in a critical eye up and down the mirror, trying in vain to decide what had made him pause.

"You're leaving?" Hawke asked tentatively, "Will you – will you come back?"

Fenris found her reflection quickly in the mirror, the shake in her tone enough to drive away all concern for whatever petty thing was out of place. She had sat herself up in the bed, a sheet concealing her body from him while she watched him dress apprehensively. With an agonizing pang, Fenris became aware that the scene had turned into a horribly accurate caricature of the way he had left her, and judging by the hidden panic in her features, Hawke had made the connection as well. Chastising himself for not noticing his blunder sooner, Fenris turned and crossed the room to her side in a few short strides. He bent down with purpose, taking her chin in his hand to tilt her face up to his.

"You would have to drive me off with torch and pitchfork before you could be rid of me now," He affirmed. Hawke's eyes lite up, causing a smirk to appear on his mouth before he leaned in to kiss the bridge of her nose, "There is a small matter I must attend to, before the hour grows too late. I will return before the end of the night, you have my word."

"Oh fine then," She smiled, allowing him to lay her back down into the pillows and tuck the coverings around her, "But don't expect me to be awake when you get back."

"That is more than fine," He agreed, ghosting a now gauntleted hand down the side of her face, her eyes closing at his touch, "You've done so much for me these past days, Marian, you deserve some rest. Now sleep. I will not be long."

He brushed his lips against hers, relishing the soft sigh that escaped from her mouth before he forced himself to stand and move to leave the room. He paused in the doorway, hand resting against the frame and looking over his shoulder at Hawke. Her head was lolled gently to one side on a pillow with her arms spread delicately across the mattress, her chest rising and sinking as she began falling into sleep. He could not help but smile at the sight of her. She was perfect and with any luck, she would be his from this day forward, until the end. He could not fathom what he had done to win the love of such an amazing creature, but he knew well enough he would never allow himself to squander such a precious gift again.

"I promise," He whispered to her, though he knew she likely could not hear, "I will always be here for you, Marian."

With that, he left the room as quietly as possible, making his way out of the estate and into the dark streets. He followed the all too familiar path to the Lowtown stairs, still not quite able to believe what he was about to do. One thing was for certain, however; the damn mage had better appreciate it.

* * *

Hawke allowed herself to peek out from under her lids at the sound of the closing door, curious to see if he had truly left yet. Finding him gone, she opened her eyes fully, turning over to her side and pressing herself into the pillow with a wide grin, indulging in the lingering scent of Fenris that it still held. She was nearly giddy with happiness, overjoyed at the way the evening had played out and eager for her elf's return from his task.

"You're welcome, Anders," She laughed to herself.

Part of her was sorely tempted to follow Fenris to the tavern to witness the events she had knowingly set in motion first hand, even if she was exhausted. As if to confirm it, a huge yawn chose that moment to sound in her chest, causing her to burrow deeper into her bedding and nestle her head further into the addicting aroma. Sod it, she would get all the details later, from Varric or Isabela if not Fenris. With a final satisfied sigh, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep, savoring her new memories from the night and fantasizing of the many more she knew were to come.

* * *

Fenris found himself inside the Hanged Man minutes later. The patrons and staff gave him a wide berth, the memory of how he had unceremoniously separated Danarius from his heart still fresh in their thoughts. He took in what was left of the destruction from the botched trap, honestly surprised at the enormous extent of it. He had not realized just how much damage the altercation had caused, though now that he thought of it he had been quite preoccupied at the time, and had most likely overlooked it. Many of the tables had been removed from the center of the room, their shattered and unrecognizable remnants shoved in a corner by the fireplace to be used as fuel, along with several broken chairs. Those few left standing were severely crippled, propped up with improvised legs where a flying body or miss-aimed spell had broken the original away. There were dozens of holes from arrows and Bianca's bolts peppering the walls and bar, some of them still imbedded, impossible to reach without a ladder.

The barmaid Norah was bent over on her hands and knees, grumbling about already having swept up three barrels full of glass that day as she scoured the dark splatters that littered the rough floor boards. Her scrubbing-brush and pail of water were tinged deep red with more than half the room still to go. She was the only one who looked Fenris in the face as he approached her, shooting him a dirty scowl and muttering under her breath about the champion and her friends always causing messes she had to clean up. Fenris chuckled as he passed her; he had always admired that girl's pluck. He made a mental note to encourage their group to give her better tips from now on.

Soon he was up the stairs and standing just outside Varric's room, several muffled voices coming from behind the door. Fenris paused with his hand on the doorknob, doing his best to swallow his pride before entering. The concept of what he was about to do was completely ridiculous, and in any other situation he would have never even considered going through with it. The fact remained however, that the abo- _Anders, _damn it – had gone well above and beyond what was expected of him.

With a deep breath he turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped into the muted light.

* * *

"Well look who it is!" Varric shouted, raising a hand in greeting while a broad smile crossed his face, "Our very own Broody, back from the dead at last!"

Anders choked on his mouthful of ale, sputtering it down his front and over his cards. The elf was here? He turned in his seat at once, along with the rest of their group, to follow the dwarf's sight to the doorway. Fenris was indeed standing in the entrance of the room, his customary leer firmly in place as he stalked towards their table and took the empty seat directly to the mage's left. Andraste's knickers, as if his night wasn't going to be enough of a trial already.

"_You would not have this difficulty had you listened to me,_" the voice in his head rang out.

"Oh shut it, Justice," Anders snapped to himself silently, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

A loud chorus of noise rang out around the table, hailings of welcome mixing with admissions of thankfulness that he was finally up and about along with the offer of a pint from Varric. Fenris readily accepted and the dwarf pulled himself from his seat at the head of the table, making his way over to a small cabinet in the corner.

"You're awake," Anders said after the din had died down, giving a curt nod in the new comer's direction.

"Very observant of you, mage," he answered with snark, returning the greeting.

"Where is Hawke, Fenris? Is she doing alright?" Aveline demanded, Anders sensing the slightest hint of nervousness under the normally unshakable guard captain's tone.

"She is well. Sleeping, finally, otherwise I am sure she would have accompanied me here," Fenris answered plainly.

"Want to join us in a quick hand, elf?" Varric asked, crossing back to the table and sliding the frothy mug to Fenris' open hand.

"Diamondback?" Fenris asked, casually taking a deep pull from his ale.

"None other," the dwarf replied, gathering and then re-dealing the cards around the table as the game started.

"You still haven't told us what happened once they got to you, Anders," Merrill piped in over the top of her cards, "Will you tell us now that Fenris is up?"

"I -"

"He healed Hawke of course," Fenris interrupted with a snort, cutting off Anders before he could speak, "what else would he have done?"

"But I mean, how did he do it?" She persisted, "Isabela said she was pouring blood, and Varric thought she was dead for sure!"

"I never said dead, Daisy," Varric contested, patting the elf's hand, "just that the weather forecast was far from sunny."

"He used his magic, how else would Anders have done it?" Fenris answered, annoyance at Merrill's incessant prodding showing in his voice, "A needle and thread?"

Anders nearly choked on his ale a second time. Not only had Fenris called him by his given name again, but he had a nagging suspicion in his gut (and his gut was never wrong) that the elf was deliberately being evasive with just what type of magic had been used to heal Hawke. He turned his head to look at the man beside him and found him staring intently into his cards, completely focused on the game. Anders watched him for a moment, determined to figure out what his motive was in lying, when Fenris' eyes met his. Scowling, he gave a nearly imperceptible wink and returned his eyes back to his hand all in the span of a split second. If that wasn't a hint to cork it and go along with the elf's lie, he didn't know what was.

Anders' had never been more confused in his life. How in the world had Fenris known he'd been dreading telling their friends about the blood magic, or better yet, why did he care? If anything, he though the elf would have enjoyed watching him squirm as he admitted what he'd done. None of this made any sense. Unless – Hawke. Of course. Maker's breath that woman was amazing.

"But then what happened to you, Fenris?" Isabela pressed, snapping Anders' attention back to the rest of the group, "By the time we'd rounded up Merrill and Man-Hands -"

"Watch it, whore!"

"My apologies, _captain_ Man-Hands, you were ass-over-tea- kettle and slumped in a chair."

"I had been injured as well," Fenris offered, taking another drink.

"No you hadn't!" Isabela challenged in accusation, pounding her fist against the table top, "You didn't have a speck of blood on you until you turned that mage into a hand puppet!"

"What other reason would there be for my being unconscious for the past several days, then?" He asked with a growl.

"Fenris' injuries were mostly internal," Anders answered, sparing a quick look in Fenris' direction before diving into the most believable lie he could improvise, "He'd taken a hit to the gut one too many times in your scrap. Even with his armor he still started to bleed out. The fact that he ran like he did to get Hawke to me in time didn't help. He passed out from shock about five minutes after getting to my clinic."

"Not quite the harrowing tale you made it out to be, eh Blondie?" Varric chuckled into his mug, "I have to admit, I'm disappointed."

"What can I say," Anders shrugged, forcing as innocent a smile as he possibly could, "I was hoping to tweak the details enough to make it more interesting, but you'll always be the master story teller, Varric."

"And don't you forget it!" Varric snickered, throwing his hand of cards down on the table, "Will you look at that, ladies and gentlemen, I believe I've won the round!"

"More like the past eight," Aveline grumbled, tossing her owed coin to the growing pile in front of him.

"Another round, everyone?" Varric asked, straightening his coin into neat stacks, "I've almost got enough for that polishing kit Bianca's had her eye on."

They played and drank for a few more rounds, Anders sneaking glances towards Fenris when he thought he could get away with it. He still did not believe that the elf would blatantly lie for him without there being some stipulation that he was yet unaware of. Whatever sign he was looking for never came, however, and soon Fenris stood from the table to leave, announcing that he was headed back to check on Hawke.

"Don't run the poor girl ragged just yet!" Isabela called after him as his back came even with the door, a Cheshire grin stretching from ear to ear on her face, "Give her one good night's sleep before you jump her again, you lanky bastard!"

Fenris paused long enough to smirk over his shoulder before shutting the door.

"I think I'll call it a night myself," Anders said, pushing back from the table and making his way towards the exit, "I really should open the clinic tomorrow morning, its been closed up for days."

A general farewell echoed around the room, Merrill waving goodnight enthusiastically. Anders moved into the hallway and down the stairs, making his way out to the main tavern. From the second bottom step he spotted Fenris' shock of white hair as he walked out the entrance. Anders hastened to follow him, throwing a rushed apology to a spitting mad Norah as his boot caught and overturned her pail, sending red water cascading across the floor. He pushed through and exited the tavern, leaving to the sounds of a few choice curses and the clatter of what he assumed was the bar maid's scrubbing-brush colliding with the door behind him.

* * *

"What a load of bollocks, from the both of them!" Isabela snorted, her smile quickly turning into a pout as soon as the mage had shut the door, "I can't be the only one who thinks they aren't telling us something, can I?"

"Nope," Varric answered plainly, shuffling the deck of cards once more.

"Not by a long shot," agreed Aveline, leaning back in her chair.

"But why would they lie about healing? That just sounds silly!" Merrill asked, looking from person to person for an answer.

"Who knows, Kitten, but whatever the reason, it's a juicy one. What do you say, Varric?" Isabela offered, turning to the dwarf, "Reconnaissance mission at the Hawke estate sometime tomorrow afternoon?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he answered, "I'll just have to stop at the market on the way. I'm running a bit low on parchment."

* * *

Fenris had nearly made it to the stairs up to Hightown before he hear the voice calling out to him. He turned on his heel, and was not surprised to see a stunned Anders running up and pulling even with him.

"Why?" He asked, panting slightly from his jog.

"You'll have to be a bit more specific than that," Fenris said as he leaned himself against one of the high stucco walls.

"You know bloody well what I mean," Anders hissed, in no mood for games, "Why did you lie for me? Hawke put you up to this, didn't she?"

"In a way, I suppose," Fenris shrugged, enjoying the annoyance in Anders' voice despite himself, "She told me that you were not keen on our friends knowing the methods used to save her and myself, but that you planned on admitting to it tonight. She did not insist upon my interference, if that is what you mean."

"She – she told you how I brought you back then?" Anders stammered, "That I used some of my blood as well?"

"She did," Fenris replied simply.

"And you still haven't shoved your fist through my chest?" Anders exclaimed.

"That would be a poor way to repay a sacrifice such as the one you made," Fenris mused.

Anders stared blankly at him for a long while, mouth gaping open and eyes wide in disbelief. Fenris found the ridiculous expression from the mage quite amusing, and had to suppress a snicker as Anders shook himself. Apparently he found the notion of the elf appreciating his use of blood magic just as unexpected as he did.

"Do not misunderstand me, Anders," Fenris explained once Anders had gotten over his initial shock, "this experience has not changed my views on magic and those who wield it. If anything, seeing what Danarius did to Marian has served to strengthen my opinion. However, I am no fool. I was the one who insisted upon the ritual, and you should not suffer for something that I would have forced you to do, whether you volunteered or not. You are also the only reason Marian and I are both alive, myself because you willingly gave your own blood to replenish mine. For that, you have my gratitude and respect. The sacrifices you made of both personal convictions and blood are why I lied to our companions on your behalf. Take from that what you will."

With that, Fenris turned back around, closing the distance to the bottom of the stairwell in a few short strides. He had said his piece and there was no need to linger. Besides, he had told Hawke he would not be long, and he did not intend to start breaking promises to her already.

"Fenris, wait!" Anders called, running up behind him once again.

Fenris turned in response, growing slightly irritated.

"I have something of yours," He explained at the sight of the exasperated glare he received, reaching his hand into his robe. From an inside pocket he pulled a small swatch of red fabric, holding it out in his palm to the elf. Fenris looked from it down to his right hand, realizing what it was that had seemed so out of place when he had examined himself in the mirror earlier that night. He snatched it from the mage's hand, tying it back to its customary location around his wrist at once.

"Where did you get this?" Fenris snarled, tempted to gut the man for tampering with his most prized possession.

"It was absolutely disgusting after everything that happened in the clinic," Anders defended, slightly off put at the hostility, "It was covered in blood and bits of gore, plus it was about to tear in two in more than one place. I – well, I washed it and mended it as best I could. I was going to leave it with you whenever you woke up, I figured you wouldn't want to explain its significance to Hawke. At least, not while I was standing in the room."

It was Fenris' turn to look incredulous. He examined the fabric more closely, and found that it had indeed been laundered and mended. Small stitches in red thread could be seen where the cloth had been previously split, while many of the stains he knew had existed had been removed.

"Thank you," Fenris said, unsure what could have prompted such an action from the man he knew loathed him, "That was – a most thoughtful gesture."

"I did this all for her, you know," Anders admitted, avoiding the elf's gaze as a slight flush colored his cheekbones, "The blood magic, bringing you back. I knew she would be crushed if you had died."

"I had figured as much," Fenris responded in truth.

"Do right by her, Fenris," Anders ordered, his eyes suddenly stern and locked on the elf's, "She's had enough grief in her life to last a century already. You treat her the way she deserves, make her happy, and you tell yourself every day how damned lucky you are to have her."

"Of that, you have my word," Fenris affirmed with a small nod.

"Good," Anders said, turning around to begin his walk back to the clinic, "I'm glad that's settled then. Good night, Fenris, and - thank you."

"Good night, Anders," Fenris responded, turning to go only after the man had disappeared into the dark streets.

He climbed the stairs two at a time, eager to shorten the time it would take him to reach Hightown, the Hawke estate, and Marian's side. He wondered with devious intent whether or not Hawke would mind being woken up at this hour. The night was still relatively young, and besides, he justified to himself with a salacious grin, they had three long years of missed time to make up for.

**The End!**


End file.
